Carnal Creatures
by Caisele
Summary: Bella is married to a brute. She has long since resigned herself to her fate. But when she meets a handsome young doctor she begins to wonder if fate can be defied. Edward/Bella. Victorian era AU. Rated for sex and themes. Meet the Mate Contest entry.
1. Act I

**Carnal Creatures**

* * *

 **Act I**

 _Men, by nature, are righteous and honorable, having been bestowed by God with many virtuous qualities_ _.  
Women, on the other hand, are carnal creatures, and not to be trusted. _

–Anonymous

The new house needs a lot of cleaning. It is a cozy little one-roomed hut, and it reminds Bella of her family's old farmhouse. The wooden beams are high and the floor is hard stone. She likes the sound of the pot bubbling over the fireplace, and how nice and toasty the hut gets as her soup cooks. There isn't a proper stove, or proper chairs, but James found an old but sturdy crate by the road earlier and hammered some planks onto the back as a makeshift bench, and he found a little wooden stool for her. It is good enough for now. They've only arrived yesterday. In fact, she hasn't even put curtains up on the windows yet.

The big window faces east, out of which she can see a lone figure trampling down the winding dirt road that leads up to the school. That must be James, coming back from his meeting with Mr. Jefferson.

Mr. Jefferson is the dean of Forks Preparatory School. He used to know James's father, and was doing his old friend a favor by taking James in as the school's new groundskeeper. Forks is a boys' school for the somewhat well-to-do. Most of the boys here are military brats, and have a hard time doing their proper readings, or learning their letters. Old Lord Forks built the school in the middle of the moors because he thought the boys could do without distractions around. But the boys found their own distraction. Bella saw two lanky kids bounding away from the hut when she went out back earlier to weed the garden.

She heard from James earlier that the boys like to sneak off to the village nearby. La Push is two streets of cutesy villas with pointed roofs, a smattering of family-owned businesses and a pub. That's enough to entice the boys of Forks to cross the moors in the dead of the night. Thing is, the moors are dangerously dark at night. The only way to La Push is to follow the dirt road – the one that passes right by the hut.

Mr. Jefferson calls James a groundskeeper, but he's more of a gatekeeper than anything else.

James is also a brute.

Bella's father owed him too many bags of coins to count, so at the tender age of fifteen, Bella was pawned off to square the debt. She remembers being washed and powdered from her forehead down to her ankles, and led into a rickety carriage. Her mother waved her goodbye, and she waved back hesitantly, wondering if she would be back in time for supper. She never saw her father's farm again.

James was working in a factory in Milltown back then, and she was sent to live in his cramped, dirty apartment. She cried herself to sleep almost every night for the first month. James is a bear of a man twice Bella's age. He had hair everywhere except for his head. Bella calls him "sir" and he calls her whatever he likes. He used to work half the day, drinks away the other half, and is always foul.

Four years she spent in that little apartment, until the town butcher went and complained to the factory foreman that James had slept with his wife.

The butcher was an important man in the town, because he was the only butcher. Just last week Tuesday, Bella was marched into the town square, sandwiched between two solemn-faced men. There was a crowd circled around the grim-faced foreman and the hulking frame of her husband. The foreman told James he had done wrong, and he needed to pay the penance.

James wasn't having it. Bella didn't catch most of what the men were saying over their shouting. The butcher had one pudgy finger pointed straight at James's nose and another at Bella as she was pushed to the front of the crowd. "How'd you like me fucking your wife?" he shouted, a string of saliva dribbling down his fat lips.

"You can fuck her right now!" James shouted back.

Bella had never felt more humiliated in her life, as the men hooted and jostled her.

"Do it!" someone roared.

"C'mere Mrs. James!" someone else yelled.

"Stop this!" the foreman screeched over them all. "For shame!"

The men quieted down and the foreman stood in the middle of the milling crowd. "James, you will leave Milltown. You will take your sorry wife with you, and you better not come back."

And that was how Bella was packed onto another rickety carriage, and left her home a second time.

The front door swings open, and the metal bolts strain against the heavy wood. Bella is pulled out of her reverie as James stomps his feet on the threshold, dislodging the mud from the bottom of his boots. Bella watches as he strides in, sniffing. "No food?"

Bella motions towards fireplace. "The soup is almost ready."

She turns her back to him, and goes back to digging through their only trunk, looking for something to cover the windows for tonight. The moors are empty, mostly, but for decency's sake, it's better to have some curtains than none.

Bella finds her old apron and holds it up in her hands. It won't cover the whole window, but until she can get to La Push and pick out some fabric, this is the only thing she can spare.

"Take the soup off the fire. Jefferson wants us to go up to the school for supper," James rumbles behind her, "says he wants to introduce the new staffs. That'll be us."

Bella takes off her shoes and stands on the bed to pin the curtains up. "Well, that's you, sir. I don't think I'm a staff."

"You're going," James says, and that is the final word.

Bella bites her tongue and reaches down for the pins she left earlier on the windowsill. She can already imagine the teachers and masters in their nicest frocks, and best dinner jackets, sitting across the table from James in his hairy wools, and Bella in her old, grey smock. Maybe she will pretend to have a stomach ache, or fall into a faint, and James will let her stay home.

She doesn't notice that James has come up behind her until he put his hands on her hips. She freezes. "You grew fat since the baby," James says.

Bella was pregnant within the first year of their marriage, but lost the baby a few weeks in. She had felt sorry for the child, but was relieved that it didn't come. She wouldn't have known what to do with a baby, and was frightened by all the blood that came out of her when it had gone.

"Yes, sir," Bella replies lightly, "I think I did."

"Your arms used to be sticks," James says, tugging at the lacing on the back of her dress. Bella stands frigid, apprehending. "Looked like a snowman, you did, with those tits of yours," James snickers, "But you're grown into them."

He loosens the strings and pulls her dress down her shoulders. It's warm in the hut, but Bella has goosebumps and her hair is standing on its end. James pulls her into him, and she sits on the bed, arms at her side, as James reaches to cup her breasts in his bear-like palms. He lowers his lips to her neck, his bristly, unshaved chin ticking her shoulder. "You got a woman's body now," James breathes. "What are you this year? Nineteen?"

"Yes, sir," Bella replies stiffly. Her dress is pooled at her waist and James is twisting her nipples. Bella stares at the apron curtain that has fallen over her feet, unmoving.

"You could prop these up," James says, rough finger tips digging into her soft skin, "a young girl like you. Don't have to dress like an old woman."

Even in her ugly smocks, Bella used to draw unwanted attention in Milltown. The factory men saw her as a woman before James ever did. They've hollered at her, stepped on her hem as she passed them, and the braver ones even ran up and put their hands on her. Then there was that one time outside the apartment, where one of the young men cornered her.

Bella closes her eyes.

She can hear James rustling about, untying his trousers. "Won't we be late for the supper?" Bella says, quickly.

James grabs her shoulder and spins her around. He presses his bulge against her arm. "What are you going to do about this then?" His voice is rough, and Bella knows that tone all too well.

Bella reaches up and pulls open the front of his britches. She takes his engorged member in her hands and does what she knows. Sliding her palms over the glistening head, fingers entangled in the thick black hair around the base of his member.

"What's a wife for," James grumbles as she works her hands, "if you can't stick them where you should?"

She finishes him quickly, and he sprays his seed between her bare breasts. "Wear the other dress," James says.

Bella dresses quickly. As she pulls off her grey smock, she sees white drips of James on the collar. He wouldn't let her wipe it off. "Just don't wear it," he tells her impatiently, "'s not that cold. Just put that damn dress on, woman."

Bella begrudging tugs on her soft, cotton dress. It's so faded that the yellow looks more like cream. She laces up her walking boots and steps outside, waiting for James by the door, shivering a little as the wind breezes past. It's almost dark.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees some movement. Bella turns in time to see dark shapes disappearing into the foliage south of her garden. Bella wraps her arms around her chest and looks towards the east window of the hut. The room is well lit from the inside, from here she can see almost the entirety of their one-roomed hut, including the bed. Bella stares into the foliage, sudden unease coiling in the pit of her abdomen.

Up through the thicket that mapped the border of the school grounds and around the garden of wildflowers, Bella and James are led up the side of the school. It is tall and built like a fortress. When the sun is up, Forks's towers could cast a shadow hundreds of feet long.

Bella and James enter through the servants' entrance. James spares a moment to huff about that, then they are swept up a grand circular staircase, and into Mr. Jefferson's office.

The Dean calls it an office, but to Bella it is closer to an apartment. It is a grand suite filled with bookshelves teetering with dusty tomes. There are three rooms set aside for his living, a bedroom, a sitting room, and the dining room, in which the other dinner guests have already gathered. There is a long oaken table set with tall red candles on gleaming stands, and silk cushions set upon the chairs. The wine glasses are filled, the bread basket is half empty, and engaged chatter filled the room, only lulling as James and Bella enters.

"Here they are!" Mr. Jefferson greets, raising his glass.

He is short, thin man with small, dark eyes, and a mustache too large for his lips. He is always gloved and clutching at his silken handkerchief. He may have been a friend of the elder James, but he was really closer in age to the younger.

"Sorry for the tardiness," James sniffs, glancing sideways at Bella. Mr. Jefferson smiles and waves his gloved hands.

Near the head of the table, where Mr. Jefferson is seated as the host, there is a man in clergy's black with hair like yellow corn, Father Carlisle Cullen, introduced as the school priest. He looks decidedly uncomfortable sitting across the voluptuous French teacher, Mme Poussard, who Mr. Jefferson calls Victoria. He is quickly corrected. "It's Victoire, _cherie_." Strewn almost carelessly across the back of her chair is a sleek fur coat, with feathers as thick and long as her incredible eyelashes. She is wearing a bright crimson gown that brings out the red in her hair and dips a little lower than conventional for the conservative sensibilities Bella was raised with. She has more gold on her neck and wrists than Bella has ever seen on a person.

Next to the priest sits a very handsome man, whose straight back, averted gaze, and noble bearing makes Bella uneasy. He has russet hair coiffed very fashionably, and flashing green eyes that look as if they were painted by an old master. Mr. Jefferson introduces him as Dr. Edward Masen, the youngest resident doctor Forks has ever had. Mr. Jefferson was very proud of the fact that the young doctor's father, Masen Senior, is on the board of trustees of the school.

"Dr. Masen was a top student during his time here, of course, top of his class, and Head Boy too," Mr. Jefferson says enthusiastically. "And we are very lucky to have him back."

The doctor seems less thrilled. "Indeed," he replies dryly, fingering the stem of his glass. Bella notes the silk threads in the fabric of his vest and how the soft candlelight shimmers as it flickers off the pocket watch as the doctor checks the hour, as if he could not wait to leave. It doesn't escape Bella that this pocket watch, encrusted with diamonds in the cold platinum, could pay three years of rent on her old apartment, and more.

"You will be glad to hear, Dr. Masen, that Mr. James will begin his groundskeeping duties starting tomorrow," Mr. Jefferson smiles at Bella. "The good doctor had to chase the boys through the moors in the dead of night on two occasions now already."

Bella nods politely, too nervous to do anything else. Masen glances towards where she stands with James, expressionless, before turning back to his drink. His eyes meet Mme Poussard's over the rim of his glass. She snorts, her lashes flitting on her cheeks, and the doctor smiles into his glass.

Bella smoothes down the soft, worn cotton of her skirts, and feels herself going red in the face.

Soon she is seated next to James, trying her best not to look at the doctor or the minister, afraid that she might cry if she sees how they are sneering at her. James, on the other hand, is unbothered by it all, or just plain unaware, and he strikes up conversation with the Mme. He makes her laugh, and her lashes flutter like butterfly wings.

Bella copies Mme, eating only when she does, and using the fork or spoon she chooses, not wanting to embarrass herself if she gets it wrong, and shows just how uncultured she is.

Bella notes the Mme's flirtatious pouts and incessantly winks in the direction of the young doctor. Bella also notes how he listens politely and smiles when he should, but the gesture never reaches his eyes. He reminds Bella of the stony statues of Greek gods that decorate the fountains in Milltown. He is just as impossibly beautiful, and probably has a heart that is just as hard as the white polished stone.

As the desserts are served, Mr. Jefferson picks up his wine and twirls it between his fingers. Bella has lost count of how many glasses he's had, but a small crate is sitting in the corner of the room, filled with empty bottles, and the butler has gone to fetch some brandy.

"It has been more lawless with each passing year," Mr. Jefferson says, speaking significantly slower than he did when they first sat down. "I've never seen boys this rowdy in all my years. I hardly know what to do."

"They need discipline," James says roughly. He's had much more than his fair share of the wine, and the telltale slur is starting to distort his words. "They need whippings, like the old days."

Mme Poussard giggles and pats his large hands. James seems pleased by that. He continues, "In the city we used to string up the urchins that lifted our purses, and we used to whip them in the square."

Mr. Jefferson forces out a short laugh. "But these are not urchins, my good man."

"If I may remind you, Mr. Jefferson," Masen says evenly, "I had suggested bringing in guard dogs to watch the gates. There are many good kennels in the country surrounding these parts."

"Well, we won't be needing those now anyways," Mr. Jefferson replies.

"It's 'cos I'm here now, aren't I?" James is getting flushed and sweaty. "Is that what you mean? Are you calling me a dog?"

Mr. Jefferson is taken aback. "I beg your pardon–?"

"Have you found yourself a dog to look after your stinking moors, hm?" James is yelling now.

Bella flinches, feeling her face burning up. Mr. Jefferson quickly calls for the brandy.

"My good man, that is surely a misunderstanding. I would never insult you, not after all your father has done for me. Come, come, have some brandy. It's strong mind-you, ages old…here, that's it."

The Mme smiles behind her hands. Bella glances over at Edward Masen. His brow is furrowed and he is actively trying to not to look down Bella's end of the table, appearing as if he is disgusted by the entire exchange.

Bella keeps her gaze upon her plate, where ice cream has been served. The conversation resumes as James falls silent, knocking back the brandy in one shot. Bella notices the Mme does not touch the ice cream, so Bella decides to forgo it as well. She has never tried it because she could never afford to. It will turn the night for the worse if she has a bad reaction and throws up.

For the rest of supper, Dr. Masen does not look in James or Bella's direction even once. Since the earlier outburst, a wrinkle remains upon his perfect nose, and his full lips are decidedly turned down at the corners. He has even pushed away from the table, as if he was sitting across from lepers.

To Bella's relief, the doctor excuses himself shortly after, stating that his has business early in the morning and must rest. He picks up his jacket and walks around the table to the door, draping it across his shoulders. As he passes by Bella, the tails of the coat inadvertently whip her in the face.

Bella touches her cheeks, feeling as if her skin has been burned, as the door resounds with a hollow thud upon his heel. She can't be sure if he hadn't noticed in his haste, or if he had meant to do it.

Either way, she feels tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She takes a deep breath and prays that no one else noticed anything.

James is getting loud and drunk, laughing with Mr. Jefferson, who is also very pink in the face. His black eyes flicker sideways once every so often towards Bella. Out of politeness, she gives him a small smile. He tips his head at her as he laughs at something James says.

Father Carlisle is tasked by Mr. Jefferson with escorting Mme Poussard back to her rooms, looking unhappy with the assignment. She leans against the older man heavily, stroking his arm. The clergyman gives her a stony look, and bids them all good night.

Bella takes the cue and stands to go. "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson, for your welcome. I think…" she trails off and gestures awkwardly at James, who is sitting, unmoving now, with his eyes half-closed, and mouth half-open, "we should go."

Mr. Jefferson laughs. "Nonsense! Stay, stay, I beg of you."

James starts from his coma-like state. "Stay, woman!" He pulls her roughly onto his lap.

"Stop!" Bella protests, blushing again, and hoping Mr. Jefferson will be too drunk to remember this tomorrow morning. She tries to push James away, but he is too strong.

He reaches around and throws her sideways across his lap. Bella is red-faced, and protesting silently, elbowing him in the ribs. But James feels nothing, senses dulled by the drink. He laughs and holds her down with one well-placed arm, and begins to spank her with his free hand.

"Stop!" Bella cries, kicking and pushing, trying to get back up. James and Mr. Jefferson are both laughing, terribly drunk. Bella is near tears, as James smacks her bottom loudly, heartily enjoying himself.

"A child, a child!" Mr. Jefferson exclaims, slurring, raising his glass and sloshing brandy everywhere. "Discipline! Whip them!"

James stops and leans into Mr. Jefferson. Bella takes this opportunity to wrestle out of his grasp, retreating to the other end of the table, truly humiliated. Her only consolation is the fact that Edward Masen hadn't witnessed this disgrace, although she isn't sure if his opinion of her could be any lower than it probably already is.

"She is half my age," James tells Mr. Jefferson, "but she dresses like my old mum."

"Ah!" Mr. Jefferson stands. "My ex-wife left her dresses when she…" he wiggles his fingers like they are wings, "the girl…your pretty girl…she can have it."

"Bloody good!" James roars.

Bella shrinks in her corner and shakes her head furiously. "No, Mr. Jefferson, I have no need of such dresses."

The dean stumbles towards her and grasps Bella's small hands in his gloved ones. "Try it on my dear," his breath stinks of alcohol, "you will look so ravishing."

Bella protests as much as she can but Mr. Jefferson is a lot stronger than he looks. "Come!" he leads Bella to his wardrobe, and James follows, unsteady on his feet, looking like a bear that has just learned to walk on its hind legs.

The wardrobe is almost as big as the entirety of the old London apartment Bella left behind not so long ago. Mr. Jefferson could open a store, Bella thinks, with a collection this size. But it feels like charity, and it feels like pity.

"I cannot," Bella says firmly, trying to slip her hands from Mr. Jefferson's hold.

James reaches out with one of his shovel-like hands and seizes a handful of the back of Bella's frock. She whimpers as she is wrenched backwards into him. "Strip," he says lowly, and then pushes her into the wardrobe. Mr. Jefferson shuts the door behind her.

There is a velvet dress laid out on an ottoman in the centre of the room. It is green like emeralds, with a slimming bodice, and sensuously figure-hugging. Outside, James pounds on the door, "Quickly!"

Bella bites her lip, uncertain. She touches the sleeve of the dress and feels the fabric slipping through her fingers. It will be the most glamorous thing she will ever wear in her life, she is sure of that.

Bella hesitates for a moment, torn between temptation and good sense. She gives in.

The dress looks scandalous on her. The bodice is tight, too small for her breasts. She couldn't tie the lacings in the back. Mr. Jefferson's ex-wife must have been unhealthily thin. Bella cups her hands over her breasts, threatening to spill over the top of the bodice lace. Her braided hair has slipped from their pins earlier, and two long strands rest upon her shoulder.

The emerald brings out a hue of deep sensual chestnut in Bella's usually boring brown hair that she didn't know she had. She skims her fingers down the side of her hip, stroking the soft velvet, and feeling her stomach tighten. She's never felt like this before. She feels beautiful.

What if she had walked into the dining room in this dress tonight? Dr. Masen would glance over as he did, and his eyes would stay, like fish that have found the hook at the end of the worm, and would he smile at her, as he had smiled at Mme. Poussard?

If Bella could curl her hair, or if she had necklaces with pendants of gold, like the Mme, resting between her breasts, or if she had eyelashes like feathers and a laugh like clinking glass…

"Lovely."

Bella jumps, spinning around. She feels her face reddening, imagining how long Mr. Jefferson must have stood there for, watching her wrapping her arms around herself, running her hands up and down her sides…

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jefferson," Bella says hastily, trying to tie the laces in her back, "forgive my indecency. I am too fat for such a dress."

"No," Mr. Jefferson says softly, his eyes are warm, and his smile is kind, "you are perfect. My wife was sick much of her life, and thin as a twig. You have a real woman's body. Do you know how many noble ladies would be envious of your figure and your darling face?"

Bella looks down at the carpet, hot in the face.

Mr. Jefferson lifts Bella's fallen strands of hair and meets her eye. His dark eyes have a look in them that Bella cannot comprehend, and his moustache curls up as he smiles widely. "Keep this dress," he says quietly and clearly, as if he isn't drunk at all, "it is truly gorgeous, befitting you."

It might have been his gloves, his manner, and that courteousness – Bella starts to think that she has met a true gentleman.

Then he kisses her.

Bella freezes. Mr. Jefferson tastes like strong liquor and shaky breaths. He embraces Bella, whiskers pricking her lips, and sticks his tongue in her mouth, lapping at her like a dog. Bella stands there rigidly, shocked. Her mind is blank with shock.

Mr. Jefferson breaks away, strings of saliva dripping from his moustache, and trails kisses down Bella's neck. At the bulge of her breasts, he plants a loud, wet kiss.

Bella squeals and snaps out of her trance, pushing Mr. Jefferson away with all her might.

The old gentleman stumbles backwards two steps and reaches for her again. "Do not fret, my dear, your husband is out cold. Your indiscretions are safe with me."

Bella looks at Mr. Jefferson, aghast. "My indiscretions? What about yours?"

Mr. Jefferson grins. "You are a married woman, Mrs. James. You are the temptress, and I am your bewitched victim."

"I am no temptress! You assaulted me!" Bella cries.

"You sighed with pleasure when I kissed your breasts," Mr. Jefferson counters. "Come, my dear, cast away your mask of virtuousness, for I know what you truly are."

She swats at his hand. "Away from me, Mr. Jefferson!"

Bella side steps him as he tries to block her way. She rushes out the wardrobe, almost tripping over James, who is splayed on the ground, passed out.

As she pushes open the heavy oak doors of Mr. Jefferson's office, she comes face to face with the very last person she wants to see.

Edward Masen stands with one hand raised, like he is about to knock. His green eyes flicker down to her. He seems confused for a moment as he sees the look on her face. Then his gaze lower, following the line of her neck to the swell of her cleavage and the shimmering dress. His countenance is suddenly closed and unreadable.

Bella pushes past him roughly. She feels tears welling in her eyes and wipes them quickly with one hand, picking up her hem with the other. Without a backward glance, she runs out of the office, down the staircase, and out into the moors.

* * *

 **Next chapter will hopefully be up by tomorrow.  
**

 **Also I need a beta for this story, please PM me if interested!**


	2. Act II

**Carnal Creatures**

* * *

 **Act II**

" _O come, o jolly, o the bold!  
Forks has riches be'er n' gold!  
O'er the hills, moors, n' moat,  
My kinfolk be proud to boast,  
I be cle'er n' be'er than most!"  
_

 _-_ Excerpt, _School Song_ , Forks Preparatory

"Jefferson gave you it?" James asks gruffly, sitting at their crude little table.

Bella plops a plate stacked with warm biscuits in front of him. "Yes, sir." The mornings are cold and damp in the moorland. Bella had to wade through puddles to fetch water for their breakfast.

James eyes the soft emerald fabric strewn across the end of their bed. "It looks too small for you. "

"It is," Bella replies curtly, turning away to fetch the butter from the cupboard.

"And you wore it in front of him?" James growls.

Bella purses her lips and puts her hand on her waist. There's no need to remind him who forced her into it. He will just deny it and insult her intelligence. "I don't reckon he'll remember. He was as drunk as you."

James prods at the biscuits suspiciously before picking one up. "I wasn't drunk."

"You were," Bella says, back still turned. "You were in a dead faint."

James's seat creaks loudly as he turns to glare at her. "No I wasn't. Men don't faint." He seizes her upper arm and spins her around to face him. "That dress ain't proper."

The way you were pawing at the French teacher ain't proper, Bella thinks. But she doesn't say it. It will just rile him up. In Milltown when her smart mouth gets the better of her she can time it right so that she'd be out of reach before his arm starts swinging. Usually if he's on his way to work he wouldn't waste time to chase her through the apartment just for mouthing back. Here at Forks, she doesn't know the lay of the land yet, and there are no morning market crowds to disappear into. So Bella holds her tongue.

"You'll return it to him," James demands, fingers digging into her arms.

Bella winces. "Yes, sir."

"Can't be seen wearing that," James grunts. "Folks around these parts might mistake you for a tart."

Bella bites the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from replying to that. James watches her reddening face with a malicious glint in his eyes. "They might take your for a three-penny-upright."

Bella balls her hands into fists behind her apron. "A what?"

James sneers at her. "You know, easy on the pocketbook, up against a wall." He demonstrates, thrusting his hip against the underside of the table, making the cups clatter and the biscuits topple over.

Bella bites her cheeks hard enough to bleed. Her humiliation at his words is made worse by his apparent familiarity with prostitutes. She shouldn't be surprised, but it still makes her resentful.

"I'll return it," she says through gritted teeth, and turns her back to him again.

James reaches over and slaps her hard across the behind, making her yelp. "Do it today."

"Or you can do it," Bella says in a huff, feeling fury burn behind her eyes and hearing blood pounding in her ears, "since you'll be up at the school anyway. Victoria Poussard will be glad to see you again."

There's a beat of silence. Bella closes the cupboard with shaking hands. She hears the sound of James pushing back from the table. His boots clunk on the floor as he stands. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

Bella feels the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. "Nothing," she says quickly.

"Didn't sounds like nothing." James's voice is low.

Bella shakes her head. "Nothing, I forgot."

James grabs the back of her nightgown and pulls her from her corner, squealing. She struggles but he only tightens his grip. He half-heaves half-drags her to the door. "You think about it," he snarls, "and don't come back in until you remember."

He pushes her outside and slams the door in her face.

Bella shivers and wraps her arms around her chest. She should have just held her peace and get her justice later by stirring some manure into his mutton curry like she usually does. She resolves to wait until he leaves for his ground keeping duties to sneak back inside. Shouldn't be long now, the sun is coming up the horizon, its rays piercing through the morning fog.

Bella stomps her feet on the ground, boots sinking a little in the mud. A whisper of the wind makes her perk up her ears. She catches broken tendrils of what sounds like a song.

She looks up to see dark silhouettes approaching. She can make out short skinny figures in caps. Students.

Bella pounds her fist against the door. "Let me in, James. Let me in!"

"Shut it!" comes the muffled roar.

Bella pounds harder. "Let me in!" she hisses loudly.

The song gets closer and closer. Bella pushes but the door doesn't even budge. James probably put down the bolt.

The figures in the morning mist materialize one by one. A trio of young boys, donned in short black cloaks and walking boots caked with mud, stop their bickering to crane their necks at the sight of Bella. She hunches her shoulder and holds her folded arms over her breasts. Her nightgown has a high collar – thank God – but it is thin and she worries the sunlight will shine right through it. She stands there blushing and freezing, hot in the face and cold in the hands all at the same time. She waits until the boys pass.

Then more of them come, stepping out of the fog laughing and prodding each other with knobby walking sticks. Some pass by Bella without a second glance, some lower their heads at the sight of her. She doesn't mind the younger ones as much, some of whom give her cheery waves as they pass, unbothered by her state of undress. A few of the older boys take off their caps and mutter quiet g'morning's as they pass by.

Just when Bella begins to think the worst is over, she hears a familiar clipped voice ring out. "Keep up, Lahote. Quit hitting Black. You'll give him a concussion."

Bella stands rooted to her spot, petrified by dread, as Edward Masen steps into view, with his hands clamped onto the back of a pair of gangly boys' cloaks. His russet hair is as ridiculously perfect as Bella remembers. His green eyes shine through the mist brighter than the sun. His broad shoulders and draped with a heavy wool cloak. His walk is brisk and his figure is graceful even as he's wrestling to keep the boys from whacking each other with their walking sticks.

"With all due respect, Dr. Masen, Jacob's dumb enough that a concussion won't make a difference," one of the boys says.

A third, smaller boy follows closely at the doctor's heels. His dark eyes flash angrily up at his schoolmate. "I'm not dumb."

One of the taller boys guffaws. "You're dumber than a warm pile of horseshit."

Edward smacks the boy on the back of his head and pushes him to walk forward. "Watch your language, Cameron."

He turns to motion at the one named Jacob. "Keep up, Black."

"I am," Jacob snaps in return.

Bella tries to back up against the stony wall of the hut, relieved that no one has noticed her. Just then, Lahote glances up, his dark head bobbing. "Look at that, Jared, they put the cow out to pasture early today."

Bella immediately flushes red all the way up to her forehead. The other one called Jared looks over. He sneers at the sight of Bella and makes a rude gesture with his hands.

The doctor sees her then, and even at this distance Bella can see his eyes narrowing into a slit and his brows furrowing. It's unpleasantly reminiscent of the way he looked at her the night before. She ducks her head, willing the mud to swallow her up.

Lahote murmurs something Bella can't make out and Jared laughs. Behind them Jacob Black piques up. "Why's she in her night clothes?"

"Because you're dumb," comes one answer.

"She's showing us her wares," comes the other.

Bella's back is pressing painfully into the jagged edges of the hut's stone wall.

"Have a gander at 'em udders!" Lahote hollers, laughing.

"Give us a twirl, love."

"We can see your teats!"

"Give us a squeeze, sweetheart, go on!"

"Just a handful!"

"Move along," comes Dr. Masen's rebuke. His voice is low and rings with finality. Bella hears the boys' boots squelching as they pass her by. She keeps her gaze trained onto the ground, resisting the urge to blink in case that stinging in her eyes turns into ears at the closing of her eyelids.

She waits for the doctor to move on as well. She waits for the disapproving sniffle, or an affronted huff, or a mocking tut-tut that she's sure will follow. But instead she hears him approach.

He is likely already laughing at her in his head, or wearing that disgusted expression so commonly seen upon his features. Bella debates whether she can ignore him till he leaves, and let him add rudeness to that long list of sins and offences she's probably tallied in his book. But, Bella gives in to the civilities that were drilled into her since she was a child. She raises her head slightly and dips into a quick curtsy. She keeps her arms crossed and her eyes trained on the ground, painfully aware of how the swell of her breasts are so exaggerated like this.

She hears Dr. Masen take a breath. "This is hardly appropriate isn't it?" he says icily.

Bella feels as if her face is on fire and her heart is beating at her throat. "I'm locked out."

"Hmm." The air of doubt in his voice is both mortifying and offensive.

She frees one arm and thumps it against the door wildly.

After a beat, the door swings wide open and James's hulk is towering over her. "Quit your banging, woman! Oh, Doctor."

"Mr. James." Bella didn't think it was possible, but Edward's already cold tone drops a few more degrees.

Bella tries to get in the door but James's large frame is blocking her path. "Out for a walk?"

"Yes." The reply is so curt it is almost noticeably rude.

"They're the ones hollering?"

Edward pauses, then replies slowly, "Yes."

Bella wonders if the doctor has icicles for teeth. She can't imagine how he can, with a simple word, evoke in her mind a raging blizzard.

Even James, who is usually thick as castle walls when it comes to social graces, catches on. "Well," he says with a cough, "enjoy your walk then."

Bella dives through the door, squeezing under James's arms which are braced against the door frame. She kicks off her boots and dive under the covers, pulling their only pillow – James's pillow – over her head. The door thumps to a close behind her. She refuses to budge from her hiding place even when James shouts at her.

He leaves soon after to make the long trek up towards the school. In the ensuing silence Bella's embarrassment slowly curdles into anger. Why must she endure the taunting? It wasn't her fault. Why should she be called inappropriate?

Eventually, she gets dressed, deciding that she'll have to stay inside for the rest of the day, if not for the rest of the week. She hears the boys when the pass on their way back from the walk. She dares a peek out the window but doesn't see the doctor.

As she's scrubbing the pot and heating up water to make dough with, she cannot stop thinking about the accusation in Edward Masen's tone. He may be a good-looking man – a _very_ good-looking man – he may have the most captivating emerald eyes, and she may have, at some point, wanted him to look at her fondly as he looked at Victoria Poussard, but she will not, for any of those reasons, tolerate his insult. The more she thinks upon it the angrier she gets.

She almost slices her finger in her distraction while peeling the potatoes. How dare he presume upon her integrity and her reputation upon nothing more than two words and a look? He prides himself on his superior clothes, his superior company, and his superior tastes, and so what? He probably can lift nothing heavier than a scalpel, he's wearing clothes bought with his father's money, and undoubtedly he only attained his current position due to his family's connections and his name. None of these are his own achievements.

For a man so neat and particular, his taste in women runs inexplicably towards the unseemly. The French Mme is undoubtedly from the north of England - despite her last name and her faux accent. She is also the type of woman who wears quail feathers upon her eyelashes and flirts shamelessly with married men much below her station. If that's the kind of woman the doctor associates with then Bella doesn't know why she has formed such a high opinion of the man, and why the sight of him made her heart jump. She will never make that error again.

Her plan to stay out of sight for the rest of the day is dashed when she realizes she'll have to cross the moors to return the dress to Mr. Jefferson. She wraps it in crinkled parchment paper, and puts on her brave face as she steps over the threshold.

Thankfully, the Dean's office door is closed. Bella leaves the parcel on the floor and hurries back down the stairs. But her good fortunes end there.

Coming up the very same staircases is the handsome doctor. He's shed his cloak and loosened his necktie at the collar of his crisp white shirt. His waistcoat is a deep maroon color with shimmery threads. A platinum chain dangles from his chest into his pocket. He looks like the kind of gentleman she'd expect to see on the balcony of an opera house. Bella remembers how badly she has always wanted to attend an opera.

Edward looks up to see her standing frigidly on the top of the stairs, clutching at the railing with both hands. Bella manages a clumsy curtsy.

"Afternoon," he says.

She mumbles something incomprehensible under her breath, wishing he would just brush past and be gone. He has a habit of catching Bella at inconvenient times.

"Glad to see that you are dressed," he says.

Bella can't tell if she's being ridiculed. "Yes, sir," she stammers in return.

He stands there expectantly for another moment before climbing lightly up the last few steps. Bella isn't sure if she's more frustrated by the fact that he may be mocking her, or the fact that she can't seem to string a proper sentence together. Edward Masen come atop this round again, Bella thinks. He always comes out on top. Damn him and his unnerving, arrogant gaze, damn him and his infuriating sense of superiority.

Bella's body moves to chase after him before she's able to consciously make the decision not to. Her footsteps echo down the empty corridor and the doctor looks back.

"That's hardly appropriate, isn't it?" she demands without preamble.

Edward gives her a bemused look. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are not an appropriate man, Doctor Masen." Bella decides she has already dug her grave, so she might as well make it nice and wide so she can stretch out when she lies in it.

He looks half taken aback and half affronted. "I don't understand."

"That was an inappropriate thing to say." She jabs her finger back in the direction of the staircase.

Edward faces her and squares his shoulders. "I apologize, I didn't mean to upset you." Despite the hardness of his tone there is still tenderness in his demeanour. Perhaps it's just the way he moves and the way his eyes stare so intently at her. Perhaps he is not as frigid as she thinks.

"I am not upset, I am angry," she clarifies.

"Is there a difference?" Bella sees a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn't match the callousness of his words.

Bella lets out a small laugh. "You ought to know, doctor, with all your schooling and your education." She doesn't give him a chance to reply. "What would you have done if you were locked out of your home in your skivvies?"

Bella doesn't expect him to actually think about that question, but he does, eyes glancing towards the ceiling and frowning slightly. He struggles between hunching his shoulders and standing upright. "I would climb in through the window," he says after a moment.

"I thought of that, but then I imagined if somebody passed by while I was hitching up my gown with one leg through the windowsill he might think I was being inappropriate. As if I asked to be standing in my nightclothes while a parade of uncivilized and ill-mannered boys march past. All the while, their self-righteous chaperone scowls like a gargoyle and judges before asking questions."

To her complete and utter surprise, Edward smiles. "How did a woman like you marry a man like Mr. James?"

"I hadn't chosen him if you must know," Bella replies stoically.

Edward doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. "You could certainly have found better," he offers congenially.

He thinks he's being agreeable and polite, and that is what vexes Bella. He thinks he is paying her a compliment. "I was a farmer's daughter, youngest of three. There is no better," Bella replies without any bitterness. She's accepted her fate. "I don't believe in betters."

The doctor looks stunned. "Surely you must. Some people are unmistakably better than others. A general with his education, his rank, and his salary makes him a better man than a chimney sweep, who speaks improperly and has no manners or prospects."

"I suppose that makes you my better," Bella replies hotly, "with your education, your family name, and your salary. I suppose I should defer to you, despite the fact that you have done nothing to earn my deference."

Edward remains quiet for a moment as he regards her. He lifts his arms as if to cross them but lowers them again half-way. Disconcertment flickers through his green eyes. "I only meant better in terms of a suitor. I certainly don't think I am better than you, and I do not ask for your deference, although you have earned mine." He fumbles with the lining of his cloak awkwardly before finally sticking his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

Bella turns scarlet, seeing that she has misunderstood, and remembers her manners belatedly. "I apologize if I am frightening you."

"You are not." Edward barks out a short laugh, clearly still flustered by her words.

Bella is surprised to find that his unease puts her at ease. Perhaps he isn't judging, maybe he doesn't think ill of her. She may have gotten a bad first impression of him and that isn't fair. How could she possibly guess what his every word and look means when she has just met him? It is also possible that he had a bad first impression of her as well, and that is reasonable. She can imagine what she and James look like to people who are used to more refined things.

The events at the Jefferson's dinner are a painfully truthful depiction of her marriage to James – he acts the part of the buffoon and the bully, having all the qualities of meanness, disloyalty, and a hot temper, and although she keeps her mouth shut and hands to herself she is his wife. In the countryside where Bella was raised there is a saying, marry a pig and become a sow, marry a dog and become a bitch. She married a brute so what does that make her?

The doctor clears his throat and dips his head. "I am happy to make your acquaintance, even through such unfortunate misunderstanding. I hope we can be friends."

"I hope so as well," Bella replies stiffly.

"As a friend, I think I should warn you," Edward's eyes flash darkly. "Mr. Jefferson is an outstanding Dean, but he has a reputation with women. I would stay away from his chambers if I were you."

Bella feels like someone has hit her with a hammer. Of course, why didn't she think of what it implies about her virtue when she's found in front of the office of a man who is known to take too many liberties?

She crosses her arms over her waist defensively. "It appears we are not quite friends yet, doctor," she replies coldly.

His eyes search her face. "I have overstepped," he concludes quietly.

"Yes, you have." And not for the first time today.

"I only say it because last night–"

Bella has had enough. She has learned that while Edward Masen is neither a perfect gentleman nor a despicable villain, she should not presume to have his vouch of confidence. People like him will always think themselves above people like her, and whatever she does in his sight he will always be liable to think of the worst first. "What about last night? Please, doctor, since you were present the _entire_ evening and witnessed _everything_ , please tell me, what happened last night?"

Edward lowers his gaze to the ground. "I think I presumed too much about you. I–"

"Don't apologize again," she says fiercely.

"Your hatred of me is rightfully justified. I only hope I can ask for your forgiveness in due time." His voice is quiet and his eyes are sad.

Bella feels her anger subsiding. "I can promise that…in due time."

Edward reaches out as if to shake her hand. She thinks for a second to turn on her heels and stomp away, but there's sincerity in those emerald orbs, and she cannot bring herself to do it. She reaches for his hand. When her fingers brush his, he jerks back his hand as if shocked.

"You should come up to the school tomorrow," he announces suddenly and loudly. "My fiancée will be visiting. She has as much of an independent spirit as you. You would like her."

Bella stares at him, at a loss of what has just happened. She nods mutely. He dips in a small bow and Bella curtsies. He turns and marches away, back stiff and arms pressing rigidly to his sides.

When she returns home she can't help but feel disappointment upon the news of a fiancée.

Bella is a married woman. Edward is engaged to be wed. What is she disappointed for?

When Bella rounds the hut towards the garden, she finds she likes those wide eyes. She likes that he listened and admitted his wrong, and she likes the heat in his gaze and the way every look lingered longer than it should, but there a spell of danger than comes with that liking.

She is pulled from her thoughts by the little noises coming from behind the thorny bush at the far end of the garden, next to the hut's small side door.

Bella peeks over the dry haphazard branches to see the round brown eyes looking back at her.

"Jacob, is it?" Bella asks nicely, not wanting to spook the boy.

"Yes, ma'am," the boy replies in a small voice.

Bella feels a twinge in her heartstrings. "What are you doing here, Jacob?"

"Hidin'." He has his knees tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around them. His sleeves are muddied and scratched.

"From your friends?"

Jacob's lower lip sticks out. "They're not my friends."

"Well," Bella swings open the side door to lug some firewood inside. "You can't hide here forever."

Jacob's little head peers up at her. "If they find me they'll knock my teeth out. Paul Lahote said he would, and Jared Cameron will hold me while he does it."

Bella raises an eyebrow at him, hands on her hips, doing the best impression of her mother that she can. "Did you tell anyone else about this?"

"I wrote to my pa." Jacob's voice gets a little stronger. "He's in the army. He can beat them both."

Bella sighs and folds a handful of kindling into her apron before hoisting it up. "Would you like some tea while you're here, Jacob?"

The boy shakes his head. "No, but I saw bacon hanging from the window."

Bella laughs. It feels like the first time she's done that in a long time. "I'll get you some bacon then."

She slices two thick slices into the pan. When they sizzle she slides them into a small plate, and she leaves on the threshold of the open side door. She thinks she can bait the boy out of the bush. But when she turns around after a quick sweeping and putting the kettle on, the bacon is gone and in its place is a small yellow wildflower.

Bella checks on Jacob again when she goes out to water the garden, and sees him sitting at the same spot with fat-shined lips. He gives her a smile that's missing some teeth. She pats his head with her free hand when she goes back inside.

She leaves the side door open as she prepares dinner, just so Jacob could get some of the warmth from the fireplace. It's the time of the year when as soon as the sun starts to set the early winter coldness creeps up in the shadows.

She doesn't notice that James is home until she's startled by a small strangled scream. Bella drops the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and rushes out the side door.

"What are you doing here?" James has Jacob around the neck, having pulled the boy out from his hiding.

"He's a student, James, you can't hit him!" Bella says, horrified by how quickly the color is draining from Jacob's face.

James snorts. "I wasn't gonna hit him." He throws the boy across the garden in one smooth swing of his arm. Jacob flails for a second in the air before landing with a thump. He scurries away without a backward glance.

James wipes his hands on Bella's apron, then grabs her around the waist. "I smell bacon."

Bella tries to wrestle out of his grasp. "I'm putting it in the stew."

He follows her inside and yanks up her skirt, groping her between the legs, just to see her squirm. Bella manages to distract him by sticking a spoon of mash in his mouth.

James eats the stew while she picks at this morning's leftover biscuits, watching him carefully. Soon he complains that his stomach aches, and lies down groaning in their bed. Bella rolls out some extra bedding by the fire and settles onto the floor, smirking to herself.

* * *

 **Thanks for all the reviews!**

 **Still no beta, if you catch any mistakes I missed, feel free to let me know.  
**


	3. Act III

**Carnal Creatures**

* * *

Note: chapter contains triggers. Tread carefully.

 **Act III**

 _We beseech thee, O Lord, to grant us true repentance that the rest of our life hereafter may be pure and holy so that at the last we may come to thy eternal joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen_

\- Book of Common Prayers

On the first morning of autumn, Bella rises to a bite in the air and a rap at the door. James has already gone to work up at the school for the day. She was jostled away earlier in the wee hours of the morning, by James pressing his swollen cock into her back. She pretended to sleep while he cursed and complained that she's a cold wife, always dry between the thighs. It was a rather rude beginning to what she predicts to be a lousy day.

Mr. Jefferson has tasked James with tying strings upon short sticks inserted into the muddy trail leading through the moor, so as to prevent night time travellers from losing their path. The seemingly innocent assignment begins to appear less so when Mr. Jefferson so conveniently happened to pass by the hut while James was away. Bella turned down his request to call upon her the first morning by telling him she was plagued with a stomach bug. The second morning, she hid under the bed until he gave up.

She thought hard all of last night to think of what she should say to him, and this morning she is ready. Bella pulls the heavy door open with difficulty, squaring her shoulders and clearing her throat, but it's not the Dean who stands in before her.

Little Jacob Black dips in a small bow. Holding his cap in front of his chest, he regards Bella with solemn eyes. "Ma'am, I am running away," he announces gravely. "I came to say goodbye."

Bella doesn't know whether to laugh or to be concerned. The gravity in the boy's tone is both alarming and comically out of place at the same time. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"I am going to find my pa," Jacob answers stoically. He places his cap back upon his head and gives her a grim, thin-lipped smile. "G'day, ma'am."

He about-turns like a soldier and marches off. Bella sways upon the threshold for a minute, unsure, then starts after him. Jacob's little legs are much faster than Bella expects, and she is weighed down by her skirts. As he runs off the path and towards the woods to the north of La Push, Bella decides she'll have a better chance of retrieving the boy if she has some help.

The sun has melted all the autumn morning frost by the time Bella reaches the school. She spots a handsome carriage parked by the front entrance and proceeds towards it, thinking it perhaps belongs to one of the faculty.

A tall, broad-shouldered stranger in a long black cloak steps out. An elder brother to one of the students, perhaps. He has dark curls upon his head and a ruddy blush upon his cheeks. He flashes a wide, dimpled smile as he reaches to offer his hand to the next passenger.

Bella sees wheat-blond curls piled high and a dainty silk glove reaching out to accept the man's help. The woman who steps out of the carriage is the most beautiful creature Bella has ever seen. She finds herself wondering if the woman is even human. Flashing violet eyes, full lips tugging upwards into a small smirk, she has the bearing of a lady and the light, statuesque figure of an angel. Bella bites her lip, thinking how she could slip past them to get to the door behind in a way that attracts the least attention to herself.

Then, suddenly, the man embraces the woman. Bella watches, eyes wide, as he plants a scandalous kiss upon those petal-like lips. The woman raises her arms to cradle his head in her hands.

Bella blushes all the way down her neck. She decides to use the servants' entrance instead.

She rushes through the kitchens, apologizing to the cooks as she hurtles past them. She hasn't run this much since she was a girl on her father's farm. Her mother had told her it was unwomanly for a girl to be chasing her brother through the fields, hollering like she was one of the boys, jumping over streams and climbing up the trees with her skirt tied around her waist. But Bella is glad for the practice now. If she is too slow, Jacob would get too far, and who knows how they'll find him again.

Bella races up the grand staircase. The students are at their lessons, and she can hear them reciting their Latin through the corridors. She decides to head up to the doctor's offices. He isn't a teacher so he'll be free to assemble a search party.

But his office is locked. She knocks loudly and presses her ear to the crack. Silence.

Bella spins around, mind reeling, who else can she find?

The priest can help. Bella leans over the banister of the landing, standing on her toes and peering down, trying to remember where the chapel is located.

"Such a delightful figure," comes a rasping voice from behind her.

Bella jumps. Mr. Jefferson stands in the middle of the corridor. His mustache twitches as he wrings his gloved hands. "My dear girl, you must come up to visit more often." Bella dips into a clumsy curtsy, feeling uncomfortable under his leering gaze. The Dean smiles. "Come you're just in time for tea." He closes the distance between them with a large step, and wraps one hand around her upper arm.

Bella tries to shake him off but his fingers latch onto her painfully. "Mr. Jefferson," Bella says urgently, "Jacob Black has run away."

The man hardly blinks. "Who?" he asks distractedly, "never mind him, come." His other hand finds its way onto her lower back. Bella squirms at the touch. She didn't have time to put on her corset this morning, and the Dean's hand feels too intimate.

"Mr. Jefferson we must go after him," Bella demands. She turns towards the stairs, but Jefferson has her by the wrist, and is pulling her in the opposite direction.

The feeling of danger that coils in Bella's stomach has nothing to do with her concerns for Jacob Black's wellbeing. She twists to free herself from Jefferson's grasp, but he easily overpowers her. "Come," he coos.

Bella is dragged, struggling, into another, smaller corridor. "Come, some pastries will calm your hysterics I think."

"I am not hysterical," Bella protests furiously. The hand on her back slips down to the swell of her bottom. Bella gasps and swats at him. "Mr. Jefferson, please!"

To her bewilderment, the Dean smiles. "My dear, you are too hasty."

"Please, Mr. Jefferson." Bella places her fingers to his chest and pushes him hard. He takes half a step backwards. Edward Masen had said that he is an excellent Dean. She can tolerate his wandering hands for a moment if he can help her return Jacob Black to safety. Bella decides to plead to him one more time. But he isn't taking her seriously. Bella gives him a hard stare, willing him to listen. "Please, help me."

Jefferson holds her gaze with an unreadable look on his face. He sweeps his right hand in a grand gesture, as if gesturing her down the corridor. "As you wish, dear," he says quietly. It sounds like he's conceding and Bella lets out a breath of relief.

But, all of a sudden, he pushes her against the wall. Bella's startled scream is muffled by his bristly lips pressing upon hers. His hands are kneading her breasts through her dress, and strong, sharp fingers dig hard into her skin.

Bella brings up her arms and pushes him away. His lips detaches from hers with a loud smack. Bella whimpers, locking her forearms pressing against his collarbone, keeping him at bay. Jefferson tries to put his lips on her again. Bella frees her right hand and slaps him across the face with all her strength. Jefferson is knocked sideways, falling to his knees.

Bella backs away from him as a shocked silence descends. The walls are still ringing with the sound of the slap, and Bella's palm is red and stinging.

She staggers another step along the wall and her knees give out. She falls on her butt. Bella folds her arms across her chest tightly. "How dare you?" she hisses with shaking breath.

"How dare I?" Mr. Jefferson cries, voice cracking, holding his reddening face with his gloved hands, "Wretched woman, you asked, no, _begged_ me to kiss you."

"I did not!" Bella retorts hotly, feeling tears burning inside her eyes.

"You came to find me. You pressed your breasts against me. You demanded for me to help you satisfy your ungodly desires. How dare I? How dare you accuse me of any wrongdoing?"

Bella shakes her head. She blinks back her hears and stands slowly, holding the wall. She is both furious and disgusted. Among the hundreds of curses and insults and shrieks of injustice in her head, she hears James lowly growl. "A three-penny-upright, you know, easy on the pocketbook, up against a wall."

Bella turns on her heels and runs out of the corridor.

The lessons for the morning have finished, and the students pile out of their classrooms. They stare openly as she passes. Bella blinks back her tears and rushes headlong towards the front doors, and right into Edward Masen.

He is standing with one hand in his pocket and the other in his hair, staring out the front doors, looking annoyed. At the sight of her, he pauses. He looks her up and down with furrowed brows. He has the very same expression from a few mornings ago in front of her hut, only today she finds no judgment in those fascinating eyes.

She opens her mouth. Mr. Jefferson is a villain, she wants to say. Mr. Jefferson is a scoundrel and a criminal, and a bastard with a jackal's heart. She takes a deep breath. Edward watches her with disturbed expression upon his face. Bella blinks hard. "Jacob Black has run away," she says instead, hating how her voice trembles.

Edward raises an eyebrow. "Jacob Black?"

Bella takes another deep breath. "He said he was going to find his father."

It is somehow apparent to Bella that the perturbed look on Edward's face and the concern in those green eyes have more to do with her than the boy. "Mrs. James," he says tensely, reaching out towards her.

Bella flinches. He withdraws his hand immediately, going pink in the cheeks and giving her a questioning stare. Bella turns away. An inexplicable wave of humiliation washes over her. "I'm going to find him," she says brusquely, "do as you will." She dashes out the door without another word.

"Mrs. James! Wait! Wait—"

Bella flies down the stone steps.

Her short boots sink in the mud as she runs. The sun has risen to its height. In its light, Bella begins to calm down. She wasn't afraid in that corridor. In Milltown she had been cornered by bigger men, stronger men, and smarter men than Jefferson. She was capable of defending herself, and still is. But the Milltown men were driven by the blood pumping in their veins and the lust blinding their good sense, whereas Jefferson carries something much more sinister. In that dark, small corridor, she was possessed by fury, but here, in the sun, she feels fear crawling up her spine. She cannot tell anyone, and they wouldn't listen even if she does. Jefferson is a respected man. However sordid is his reputation with women, he can use his influence to convince anyone that she is the one to blame. The thought of that curdles Bella's insides. She has nothing to defend herself with, no money, no power, and no friends. No, she will stow her pride, keep her peace, and remember to stay far, far away from him.

Bella's boot gets stuck and she is flung forward, throwing out her arms as she falls.

Strong arms catch her around the waist. Her hands hover over the tips of the short grasses, fingers spread, bracing for the fall, but it doesn't come. Strands of loosened hair tumble into her vision as she is pulled back flush against a hard body.

The doctor has a scent about him that Bella hasn't noticed until this moment, when she is pressed against him. It's a mixture of soap and clean linens, with a hint of something soothingly familiar.

Edward lowers her onto a patch of yellowing cotton grass, and bends to free her foot from the mud. He moves her ankle experimentally. Bella bites her tongue as a shock of pain courses up her leg.

He looks up sharply. "Does it hurt?"

"No," Bella lies.

Edward gestures to her boot lacings. Bella nods. He loosens the knots and prods at her ankles. "No swelling." He glances at her. "That's good."

Bella doesn't know what to say to that. He laces her boots up again and, for some reason, plops down next to her. Bella pulls her knees up to her chest, at a loss.

Edward looks down. "Gravy?" he points to a spot on her apron.

"Sauce," Bella answers, embarrassed. "Shepherd's pie."

Edward makes a deep longing sound in his throat that makes something ache in the sweetest way deep inside her. "Mhm, I miss home cooking, the school's cook is generous with the grease but stingy with the mutton."

Bella turns to look at him. His russet hair is lighter in the sun and his green eyes are like sea glass pebbles when he squints in the light. The school's tallest towers are just visible beyond his shoulder. She ran faster than she thought, and he chased after her all this way. She looks down at his shoes. The black leather is scuffed up and the soles are crusted with mud.

Bella tries to not feel too bad. Surely, he has the money to clean them. She wiggles her ankles. The pain has subsided.

"It's a pretty land," the doctor says suddenly, staring ahead.

Bella follows his gaze, watching the wind bend the reeds in the rush. There are many bogs in this moorland and one wrong step can send a man splashing into waist-deep waters. There are trees and cliffs to the east, ascending alongside the edges of the Forks valley. Two small winding rivers run from under the cliffs to the flatlands in the west, meeting just north of the school, giving the valley its namesake. And to the south, beyond a bald outcrop, are the thick woods of La Push.

It is a beautiful land, but a dangerous one too. "He'll die out here in the winter," Bella says aloud without thinking.

Edward doesn't miss a beat. "We'll find him," he laughs, "he usually comes back within a day."

"Jacob?" Bella asks, just to be sure. "He's done this before?"

Edward shrugs. "Every semester, almost," he says casually, giving her a look.

Bella scowls. "Because those awful boys torture him," she says hotly. "They look down on him because his father is a soldier."

"You mean Paul Lahote and Jared Cameron? They're his cousins," Edward says, surprised that Bella doesn't know. "Jacob Black's father is the Lord of Yorkshire. He is a famed general in the Queen's army, second only to the Duke of Cambridge."

Bella makes a face. "Never heard of him," she says flatly.

"Never?"

Bella thinks back to an old phrase her mother always says when the other women in the village gossip about the affairs of the lords. "What is a bull to the beetle in the grass?"

"Not much I'd imagine," the doctor replies with a shrug, "until it steps on it."

Bella shakes her head. "But the beetle wouldn't know it's been stepped on. It doesn't even know there is such a thing as a bull. How could it? Its entire life it flitters among the grasses and the weeds, feeding off the dew and digging though the dirt. How can its mind even begin to imagine the intentions and desires of a creature so much bigger than it and so removed from its world? The beetle will be hungry one minute and dead the next. Even if we told it about there being such a thing as a bull it wouldn't believe us."

Edward peers at her, leaning close. Bella shrinks back a little, flustered under the intensity of his gaze. "You are perhaps the most unusual woman I have ever met," he says quietly.

It's a simple thing to say, and sounds like neither a compliment nor an insult. But it sends a tingle down Bella's spine and ignites a fire in the pit of her belly. It feels improper and it feels like sin, but Bella has never felt like this before, so she can't be sure.

He's an educated man with good salary and a reputable name, she reminds herself, and he has a fiancée who is probably much prettier and has much better manners. "Dr. Masen…" she begins.

"You can call me Edward," he cuts in easily. There's a warmth in his eyes that makes butterflies flutter up to Bella's chest. He is so close that their shoulders are nearly touching, and she's overtaken by an inexplicable urge to link her arm through his. It feels insane. Then she remembers how Jefferson had looked at her the first night in his room, and what had happened afterwards.

Bella shakes herself and presses her lips into a line. "And you can continue to call me Mrs. James."

He looks away. "I suppose we're still not friends yet," he says.

"No, I suppose not," Bella agrees quickly. The doctor's shoulders are rigid, his back hunched, and he is folding his fingers into a fist then straightening them out again. His long legs are bent slightly at the knees and he has propped his elbows up upon them. He keeps his head turned, russet hair stirring in the breeze, but otherwise unmoving. Bella can't take the silence anymore. "What if he is lost?" She blurts.

Edward lets out a short laugh. "He knows his way, he'll be back, don't you fret, he'll come back with his tail between his legs and a vow that his father will hear about this."

Bella frowns at the nonchalance in his tone.

Edward's lip tugs upward into a small teasing grin at the look on her face. He angles his head, whistling. "Here, Jacob," he calls, "here, boy."

She catches him sneaking looks at her from the corner of his eye and can't help but laugh. "You know, I've never learned to do that," she volunteers.

"Do what?" He asks. His voice is hard but when she looks at him he's smiling. He whistles a little tune.

"Yes," she admits, "that." Then she shows him. She tries all she can, and does nothing but blow air at him.

He shifts in his seat to face her. "Here," he says seriously. "Like this, with your lips."

She leans in unconsciously as she imitates, pouting. His hand comes down on her knee. A jolt of something hot snakes up Bella's spine and she's dizzy. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, and they flap about awkwardly until at last she rests them lightly over his. It looks scandalous, but it feels perfectly right.

Edward is completely ignorant of her disquiet. "Right, pull your tongue back," he instructs, "you're not blowing raspberries."

Bella tries again. "I can't."

He has much more patience than Bella is willing to give him credit for. "Yes you can. Leave a space between here." He puts one finger to her lips, brushing the soft skin there. Bella blushes till she's scarlet, and his eyes go dark. Those emerald orbs flicker down to her lips then up to meet her eyes. Holding his gaze, she feels as if there's an invisible string that snapped. She remembers how his arms were around her when he saved her from the fall, and how his body felt pressed against her back. Bella lets out a small wavering whistle, catching the both of them off guard.

Edward drops his hand and stands quickly. "I should return, I have duties to attend to." He offers her his hand to help her stand on reflex, but thinks better of it and sticks his hands stiffly in his pockets.

Bella slowly gets on her feet. "Th-thank you." Her face is burning. She keeps her gaze lowered to the ground, afraid what another glimpse of the look in his eyes will do to her resolve. She sees the sause stain on her apron. "Oh! I should have you over for dinner," she stammers hurriedly. "My cooking is simple at best, but it will be a nice change from the fare at school."

Edward stops in his steps. "That wouldn't be proper, Mrs. James. Good day," he says over his shoulder.

Bella stares after him, alone and conflicted.

Jacob returns that night to a loud telling-off and a hundred lines of "I will not run away again". James tells her that during dinner. Bella has expected James to come from work, sacked and angry, or maybe Jefferson and officers from the town knocking down her door, accusing her of adultery. However, all she gets is James stepping through the threshold with an armful of liquor and a story of how he has forgone his duties and went to traipse through La Push instead. "The barman there is a right fella, and the maid pouring my drinks has two great fat jugs of her own."

To her relief, in the following weeks, Jefferson disappears from the school's landscape. James returns home with news that the Dean is away for business in London, or taking a leave for a week to France, or suddenly called back home. But, to Bella, even his absence is ominous.

Meanwhile, Edward Masen is actively avoiding her.

She sees shadows of him everywhere. His handiwork is on the boy with the bandaged arm. His voice is among the students' when they go on their monthly morning hikes, but when she looks out the window he is nowhere to be found. She sees his shadow disappearing along a corridor and the tails of his cloak whipping around a corner. She sees him when she's closing her eyes at night, and when she wakes in the morning. Even when he's not there he still makes her shudder.

She dreams of him at night. One morning she wakes up damp between the legs. She squeezes her thighs together and feels her insides pulse as pleasure throbs up from her sex. When James wakes and paws at her like he does every morning, he finds her wet and willing. He pulls up the skirt of her nightgown unceremoniously, presses her face down roughly, and spreads her buttocks with his fingers. He thrusts two thick digits inside, up to the knuckle, and Bella shakes, moaning into the pillow. Satisfied, he fucks her like he does every other time, with quick thrusts and hands gripping her hips hard. Only this time, for the first time, Bella feels pure pleasure licking up her back like a forest fire. She arches off the bed and imagines it is Edward's engorged member deep in her belly. When the bliss fades, disgust replaces it, made worse by the satisfied grunts of James as he spills his seed inside her and the smack he leaves on her bottom.

She washes herself the best that she can but is still unable to scrub the memory of James's calloused hands from her skin.

Bella promises herself she will never let that happen again. But the very next night, when the lamp is turned down, Bella's mind wanders back to the doctor, and her body pressed against his chest, his arms around her waist and his green eyes flashing. The familiar heat burns through her like a fever. She reaches out in the dark for James. He responds readily, spreading her knees and fucking her numb. The image in her memory of sun-lit russet hair and narrowed emerald eyes is swallowed by the night when James put his fist in her hair and tugs on her breasts till they are sore. When it is over she curls up on her side and cries silently.

He's already gone in the morning when she opens her eyes. She goes to throw up in the garden.

The sky is still shrouded in the dark of early dawn, and the cold in the air pierces through to bone. Bella throws her cloak over her shoulder and slowly makes her way to the chapel with her conscience weighing heavily on her mind.

The chapel is a simple chamber with nothing to distinguish it from the classrooms other than the Anglican compass rose hanging upon the door. The fine gold threads embroidered on rich blue silk lies in stark contrast to the rest of the chapel. The small room is dark, with a single stained glass window high on the north wall. The plain wooden cross standing under it reminds Bella of the little church in her hometown.

Father Carlisle emerges from his office, greeting her at the altar.

"Good morning, Mrs. James." There is an easy unassuming manner about him, standing there in plain black vestments. His attire and the matching humble furnishings of the chapel makes Bella think of her father's farm and the smell of summer rains. "I missed you at mass on Sunday." The priest's words are neither accusatory nor shaming, but Bella turns pink nonetheless. He doesn't specify which Sunday and he doesn't need to. She has missed the sermons every Sunday.

But there is no judgement in his eyes, and his quiet smile eases Bella's anxiety.

She curtsies and keeps her head bowed. "I wish to request for a private confession."

Father Carlisle gestures to the bench before the altar, at the foot of the cross. "Our Father in Heaven hears you," he assures.

Bella takes her place, kneeling upon the bench, looking up at the simple crucifix. Father Carlisle retreats to the back of the room.

She raises her clasped hands to her lips and closes her eyes. "I confess in the name of the father, son and holy spirit." She takes a deep breath. The chapel is silent.

"My last confession was a year ago," she begins, then pauses. She can hear Father Carlisle slowly lowering himself into a seat far behind her.

Bella's mother has taught her to say the worst sin first. That way the nervousness won't sneak up and choke out the words later. Say it early and say it loud, her mother used to say, because if you keep it hidden in your heart then the devil wins. Bella takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily. "I have impure thoughts towards a man who is not my husband," she says. The chapel remains silent.

Bella feels a bit braver. "I also think about how I wish I wasn't married so I can be with him. I wish I wasn't raised to be a good English woman so I can be permitted to indulge in him. I wish I was a free woman, an ill-reputable woman, but I am not. I cannot do much more than look at him and think these thoughts. I know it is sin, but I cannot stop. I have no pleasure in being with my husband. He's a horrid man." Tears well up and trail down her cheeks. Bella's voice breaks.

"Lord, help me," she sobs. "I don't know what to do. I committed adultery in my mind and I have hatred in my heart."

Father Carlisle's quiet voice sounds like a disembodied whisper carried through the wind. It reverberates from the high, arched roof. "Lucifer casts the curse of lust upon both men and women. You are no different from any other woman or even any other man." Bella turns to stare at the priest, taken off guard by his reply. She anticipated dozens of responses, but this isn't one of them.

He looks up at the ceiling, blue eyes twinkling in the dim light. "May god forgive your sins, Amen."

"And my penance, Father?" Bella asks apprehensively.

The priest sighs. "Give yourself to your husband, my child. Give yourself to him fully, and see that he can fulfill your desires."

He cannot, Bella thinks, but she nods. Her heart is hard, but that's a different sin, and a confession for a different day.

Outside, the fog that descended overnight is still lingering, looking like white smoke rising up from the ground and shrouding even the tallest grasses. Bella blinks in the cold glow of the morning sun. She walks as if possessed, feet finding the familiar path on their own while her mind is far, far away.

When the morning matures and the sun begins to dissipate the mist, Bella is standing a little ways off the dirt path, eyes closed and face turned to the sky. She found a cluster of wildflowers amongst the grasses and weaved their stems together. She unbuttoned her sleeves and pushed them up above her elbow. The little petals of white, leaves of yellow and stalks of purple heather trail up her bare arms.

Dear God, she prays, save me.

When she opens her eyes there's a tall, dark figure watching her from behind the last wisps of the fog, with slumped shoulders, bedraggled russet hair, and forlorn green eyes.

Edward stands and stares at her for a moment, resembling a wild man in his look and manner.

"I haven't slept," he tells her, brows stitched together. "I cannot eat. And I cannot think, for even a minute, of anything but you." His voice rumbles through the air like the waters of a bubbling brook. "Bella James, you make me insane."

Bella is still in the process of deciding whether the scene before her is an apparition created by her traitorous mind or if the doctor has truly gone mad. She tries to walk forward but her legs have turned into stone. "I-I don't understand," she finally says, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer.

"Neither do I," he replies, frustrated. "I saw you from my window, gliding like a spectre of the bogs. I was out of my office and on the grounds before I even knew why. And here you are." His face contorts in agony, and somehow appears more handsome. "I would think that you are a phantom from beyond. I would think that God sent you to torment me in the guise of Venus with the boldness of Athena. But I know that no malevolent spirit could masquerade as a creature so lovely."

Bella does not feel very lovely in the moment, with her jaw hanging open and her eyes wide as plates. She regains control of her legs with difficulty, coaxing them to propel her back onto the road. She steps carefully towards the doctor. He has come after her with no cloak and no boots. The shirt under his housecoat is wide at the collar, open to the middle of his bare chest. Upon his feet are flat leather sandals, meant to be worn only indoors, and he has no socks on. His feet are caked in mud up to the ankles, and although he is shivering, she can feel his heat radiating off him like flames. If she reaches out, she can place her palm flat against his heart. She resists the temptation to do that. She doesn't have enough self control to stop there.

When he meets her gaze, his eyes are distant and filled with misery. She can hardly stand to look at him.

"Are you sick?" she asks.

Edward tries to suppress his grin, looking deranged. "I think I am," he says ruefully. "I am sick in the head."

It shouldn't be funny, but, somehow, it is. "You're not the only one," Bella replies softly, smiling widely, probably looking just as deranged herself.

He raises one hand towards her. She reaches for it automatically. He doesn't jerk away at the last second this time. He threads his warm fingers through hers, keeping his eyes locked on her all the while. Bella doesn't dare to blink. He closes the space between them with half a step and ever so slowly he leans towards her upturned face.

Bella watches him, big brown eyes sweeping from his lashes to his cheeks, to his nose and to his lips. He watches her just as intently, pausing as the tips of their noses brush. Bella closes her eyes, and in a heartbeat his hot breath is upon her.

It's a shy, chaste meeting of quivering lips, shaking with ill-contained restraint and a feverous passion that threatens to spill from its dam. Bella leans into him, her free hand clutches at the soft fabric of his shirt. Edward wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. He tips his head slightly and deepens the kiss, pressing into her until her lips swell up like a rose in bloom and he groans, taking her air away.

His one hand is cupping the back of her head, and his other hand envelops her. For a moment, her mind dissolves into nothing but a symphony of colors.

Belatedly, she remembers her penance and her promise.

She turns her head away. Edward sucks on her lower lip and kisses from the corner of her mouth to her jaw. Bella untangles her fingers from the fabric of his shirt and pushes him gently away. He releases her from the embrace, arms hanging in the air for a minute before dropping heavily to his sides.

"Bella." The way he whispers her names sounds like both a sigh and a plea.

She turns her back to him and picks up her skirt. The sun is risen, she thinks as she walks, and there's no more bread. She should raise the dough now and bake it at noon. She keeps her head held high and her back straight as a board. Her husband will be hungry tonight, she reminds herself as she steps over a puddle, and he'll want bread to dip into his soup.

* * *

 **Thanks for the great feedback!  
**

 **Paolina: I don't have a set posting schedule, because I find them too hard to keep to, but I will try my very best to post a one chapter every week. That said, the next chapter will be long and a bit difficult to get right, so please bear with me!**

 **Again, feel free to let me know what you think.**


	4. Act IV

**Carnal Creatures**

* * *

 **Act IV**

 _Most men will proclaim every one his own goodness: but a faithful man who can find?_

\- Proverbs 20:6

September passes like a dream, gone with a blink and a sneeze. Thin layers of ice begins to take shape over the grasses overnight, and the smoky morning mists lingers over the bogs constantly. Travellers seem to materialize out of thin air when they pass by the hut. Bella spends her days by the fire or in the garden, and everyday bleeds into the next, blending into one.

One Friday afternoon her monotony is broken by Victoria Poussard's piercing voice outside her window and James's thunderous guffaw. "Come on," James shouts and Bella looks out to see them standing with a group of huddled students. "We're going to town."

Some weekends the students are permitted to visit La Push under strict supervision. The Mme is the chaperone this week. Bella and James are asked to accompany her to keep the boys in line. It is an assignment that James is all too happy to receive, judging by his wide grin and his leering eyes upon the French teacher's bosom.

Bella isn't a jealous person by nature, and in all honestly she would prefer to have James's attention elsewhere. Back in Milltown, when he took up with the butcher's wife, Bella was more than happy to be sleeping alone. However, the way James is almost drooling at the mouth, and the inconspicuous way his eyes are molesting the Mme is mortifying. Some of the students whisper behind their hands and make faces when James stretches out his arm around the Mme's waist or when he "accidentally" bumps his elbow against her plump chest. They snicker behind James's back and laugh in Bella's face. Some of the older students frown at her, as if this is somehow her fault. They should be glaring at Victoria, Bella thinks, the Mme is encouraging him with every giggle and batting of those feather lashes.

Victoria Poussard also glances back at Bella once in a while with a superior smirk upon her face, as if to say, look I've got your husband chasing after my skirts like a dog in heat. Bella wants nothing more than to tell her that she doesn't care, but that's impolite. So she tries to keep her face schooled into a neutral mask. However, on the inside she's feeling more and more nauseated with every passing minute.

It might have snowed in La Push the day before. There are traces of white on the dark tiled roofs and covering the chimneys. The cobblestone streets remind Bella of Milltown and, for a minute, she gets a melancholy feeling. It's as close to homesickness she's ever felt. It catches her off guard, since Milltown never felt like home to her for all those years she's been there.

The boys scatter the minute they step through the gates, eager to explore the village, buy sweets, or try to sneak into the pub. They don't have much luck with the last one, since the pub is James's first destination. He escorts a giggling Victoria towards the dark doors, leaving Bella alone and staring after them in the middle of the street.

A trio of little skinny boys from the village dash out from around the corner, chasing each other. They have raggedy caps and too-small trousers. Their shoes have holes in them and their arms are small like sticks. The littlest one looks about two, still shaky on his legs. He stops in James's way and bends to pick up something. James snarls at the boy. Bella starts forward towards them on instinct, but she is too far. James gives him a swift kick to the side.

The boy crumples into the ground silently as his companions flee. Even from where she is Bella can see the child's eyes screwing up in pain as he takes in a deep gasp of breath, then another, then, finally, he begins to wail. James tries to kick him again.

Bella's breathy protest is drowned out by a screech. "Stop!"

A brown-haired woman runs forward and sweeps up the child in her arms. She looks a few years older than Bella, small and fiercely protective. She gives James a defiant glare before turning and dashing away. The anger in her eyes and the pain in the child's cry break Bella's heart.

Bella follows her around to the back of the pub, where a side door is opened a sliver. The heat from the kitchen wafts out from behind the door in plumes of white smoke, laced with the smells of roast and onion soup. Bella gives the door a slight tug. She sticks her head through.

The small kitchen is cramped but cozy. There is a matronly cook standing over a bubbling pot over the stove. In a brick-walled sink, a pile of chipped plates are stacked up to be taller than the cook. A roaring fire blazes in the open oven, sizzling as droplets of lamb fat fall into the inferno. A pink-cheeked girl dashes in with a platter of empty mugs and leaves it clattering on the little rickety table in the middle of the kitchen.

Bella finds the little boy in a corner. He has been set on the floor atop a bed of mismatched blankets. The woman who rescued him kneels at his side, stroking his little cheeks, wiping the trails of tears so gently that it makes Bella's heart ache.

She looks up as Bella slips inside, her brown eyes are dull and apathetic. "Wrong door, love."

"No, I'm here for, um," Bella stammers, "I'm really sorry, ma'am, for what happened. I don't mean to make excuses for him, but James is a brute of a man and he forgets his strength sometimes. I'm sorry."

The woman gives Bella a hard stare. "Why do you apologize for him?"

Bella bites her lip. "He's my husband."

"You two work up at the school?" the woman asks. Her tone is resentful but considering the circumstances Bella doesn't count it against her. Bella nods. The woman stands, wiping her hands on her apron. "Haven't seen you around here before," she says carefully.

Bella shrugs. "Haven't had a chance to come down before."

The woman grins, and Bella sees that she is very pretty if she sheds her stony countenance. "I suppose that's why you're talking to me then, you'll learn soon enough." At the confused look on Bella's face she laughs. "My name is Esme."

"I'm Bella." There's a pregnant pause as she thinks of something else to say. "Is he your son?"

"No," Esme answers. "He hasn't got parents, and I haven't got kids." Esme gestures behind Bella's back and she turns to see the little boy's two older companions from earlier peeking in through the open door. "None of these children have anything other than each other."

Bella smiles at the boys and waggle her fingers at them. They duck away shyly. She turns to Esme. "Kind of you and your husband to take them in."

Esme chortles. "What husband? No one wants to marry a widow," she says nonchalantly as she picks up a broom and begins to sweep the ground in the little corner. "They say I'm bad luck."

The hardness is her voice doesn't escape Bella's notice. "You care for them yourself?" She wonders how Esme finds the money to feed all these mouths.

"Father Carlisle helps. He is a good man," Esme answers, expression softening. She looks into the space, distracted for a minute, the resumes her sweeping with a newfound vigour.

Bella touches her arm. "If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know," she says earnestly.

Esme peers up at her with an unreadable expression on her face. "You're a pretty girl, young and strong."

Bella wavers for a second, unsure if she's supposed to answer. "Yes ma'am," she says finally.

Esme's face grows dark like storm clouds sweeping over the moorlands. "Steer clear of that demon," she whispers. "You can put the beast in gloves and coat tails, but he's still the devil."

Bella blinks, startled. "Jefferson?"

"I won't say his name," Esme purses her lips. "It's bad luck to say the devil's name."

Bella looks out at the darkening sky outside. That familiar ominous feeling weighs heavily in her belly once again. "I'm not afraid of him," she says boldly.

"You should be," Esme snaps. "I used to cook for Mrs. Jefferson, the poor woman." There is something spooky about the way she says that. Bella shivers involuntarily.

"How did she die?" Bella ventures.

"Die?" Esme echoes, looking affronted. "She didn't die, she's locked up and starved and confined to bed, but she's not dead yet. My mistress has been a fighter for as long as I've known her and she won't let him have his way easily, no she won't die, not until he's paid for his sins."

The cook turns from her place at the pot and scowls at the sight of the two of them talking.

Esme drops the broom and motions Bella towards the door. "You watch out," she says warningly as she pushes Bella outside. "He's the devil in disguise."

And with that, the kitchen door is shut with a bang. Bella stands unmoving for some time, shaken to the core.

As malevolent and wretched Jefferson is, surely he isn't truly the devil. Bella has known men more evil than him. In fact, James can give him a run for his money. Although on second thought, James is more like a bully of a child who never grew up, while Jefferson is something entirely different. James will throw tantrums and lose his temper. He'll scream at Bella, slap her, and embarrass her, but his actions are hardly premeditated. Jefferson is a careful man. He calculates and manipulates. He may not have hurt her as much as James had, but that's perhaps only because he hasn't been given the chance. His actions are all the more blackhearted now that Esme's words are newly etched in Bella's mind. She has heard of stories of the occult, but surely if someone is possessed by the devil Father Carlisle would know. Surely he wouldn't dine with the man and allow him to be the dean of a school. Surely he would expose the fiend for all that he is.

While mired in her thoughts, Bella's feet take her back onto La Push's main street on their own accord. Her boots make light tapping sounds against the cobblestones. As she passes the pub she can hear James's voice drifting out. There's no audible slur in his speech yet, but he's getting very loud. Bella cringes at the thought of having to wrangle her drunken husband home tonight. Hopefully, he'll pass out when he gets home. Hopefully, he doesn't peel off his trousers and stick his cock in Bella's face like he sometimes does, demanding her to put it in her mouth. A whore's trick for a whore, he'd say, and Bella would have to resist the urge to bite it off and let him bleed to death.

James hasn't given her any allowances since she came to Forks. He's kept his pay in his own pockets to spend on mead and wines. So Bella meanders down the street, staring wistfully into the shops. The bakery is glowing from the fires of the oven and the loaves sitting at the window seem to reflect the light like diamonds. The bookseller's quaint storefront doesn't take away from the attraction Bella feels for the goods inside. She enjoys looking at the crisp white pages and dainty bottles of ink in all colors. There's the sweet shop in which almost all the students are crowding. Candies in pretty paper wrappers sit in tall glass jars while a smiling man behind the counter hands out squares of caramels to his eager customers. The last building on this street is a seamstress's. In the window hangs a lovely dress. It's green like spring with a bow tying in the waist. The thick fabric of the bodice cuts away in the front to reveal a frilled white skirt with its many layers lined with lace so delicate that it could have been woven by spiders.

The shopkeeper is a large woman who, upon seeing Bella stop at the door, invites her in. Bella tries to decline politely but is ushered inside nonetheless. She runs her hand down the back of the dress. It is cotton and warm, but the white lace isn't so practical in the muddy moor. The other dresses in the shop are just as fancy and just as impractical. There's a gown of blue silk with sheer puffed sleeves with a dropped neckline that is so fashionable these days. There's a white satin day dress fit for a duchess that shines even in the dimmest light. Bella means to excuse herself quietly, but the dressmaker's enthusiastic smile makes her hesitate. Bella ends up asking the shopkeeper to put the green dress from the window aside. She can perhaps afford it if James decides to provide her allowance.

As the seamstress disappears into the back room, Bella catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face is too pale and her eyes are too big. She looks like a doe caught in the light of an oil lamp. Her hair is plain and unadorned, tied up just so it's out of the way. Her brown wool cloak is worn thin and seems to blend into the rough fabric of her skirts. She slips a length of cream ribbon off a nearby hook and ties it around her neck. It gives her cheeks some color.

As she watches her reflection she notices a figure standing a little ways behind her.

Bella spins around, spooked.

Edward steps out from behind the shadows, looking embarrassed. "Ah, sorry."

Bella curtsies hurriedly. "Dr. Masen."

He looks very awkward standing there with a long coat draped over his shoulders and a cane spinning between his fingers. "That looks very fetching on you," he says stiffly, gesturing vaguely.

"Thank you," Bella answers, just as graceless.

At that moment, a blonde woman emerges from the back of the shop. Bella recognizes her as the beauty from the carriage a few weeks ago. She's wearing a rich indigo dress that brings out the violet in her eyes and makes even the brightest dresses in the shop look drab. Bella watches as she pats one silk-gloved hand over her carefully arranged curls, and her other hand takes Edward's arm. "Shall we?" Her voice is tilting and resonating with boredom.

"Yes, uh," Edward looks from Bella to the blond woman, then down at the floor. "This is Miss Rosalie Hale, my fiancée."

Bella can hardly contain her shock. Surely he is mistaken, or Bella is. If Miss Hale was anyone else Bella could tell herself it was just a coincidence and there are plenty strangers who, for some reason, bear striking resemblance to each other. However, Rosalie Hale has a singularly beautiful face that is too bewitching to be found anywhere else.

"This is Bella James," Edward continues, still not meeting anyone's eye, "staff at the school."

Bella finds her voice. "I don't think I count as staff," she says demurely, unable to take her eyes off Rosalie. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Hale."

"Likewise," Rosalie replies curtly.

"'Scuse me," comes a low voice from behind Bella. She steps to the side automatically before looking up. Then she does a double take.

It's the dark haired man Rosalie had embraced. Bella remembers those dark curls and those deep dimples. "The coach is ready," the man says. He's wearing a knee-length cloak that sweep the top of his riding boots and white driver's gloves stained by leather reins.

Rosalie nods at Edward and sweeps away. She doesn't acknowledge the other man, or even look at him as she brushes past, leaving the scent of something flowery and heady in her wake. Bella feels the ache of neck strain coming on as she looks repeatedly between Rosalie, the driver, and Edward, flabbergasted.

"Thank you," Edward claps the big man on the back, appearing more relaxed as the train of Rosalie's dress disappears out the door. "This is my good friend, Emmett McCarty."

Emmett grins. "Chauffeur, actually. Been taking Master Edward around the country since he could waddle." He sticks out his hand to Bella. "Pleased to meet you ma'am."

Edward laughs. His smile is easy and genuine. "If I was waddling you wouldn't have even been able to crawl yet."

His mirth is lost on Bella, who takes Emmett's hand mutely. She watches him beadily as he dips in a bow and then excuses himself to wait by the coach, just visible out the window. For Edward's sake, Bella hopes they have a sense of discretion and there will be no kissing again.

She can't help but feel resentment towards the beautiful Rosalie, who appears to have everything any woman could ask for in Edward. Yet she prefers to kiss the coachman, who has neither the handsomeness nor the wealth of her husband-to-be. She also seems very blasé about wrecking her own engagement and the promise of a comfortable life for a very temporary gain. On the other hand, Bella remembers with a blush, she is set for a complacent life as well, perhaps not as luxurious as Rosalie's but with James, Bella will never be hungry or without a roof over her head, yet she's put that on the line by kissing a man who isn't her husband and with whom she can never have a future with. If James discovers that little moment of weakness, she could be put out on the street with nothing but the dress on her back.

In these modern times, divorce is only advantageous for well-off women who have means and possessions of their own. For someone as lowborn as Bella, divorce means starvation or pneumonia, whichever kills her first. Bella supposes she shouldn't judge. She is certainly not sinless, and she has no right to be casting any stones.

Edward takes a step as if to follow his driver out, however when Bella steps back out of his way he stops before her. "Just returned from London," he says breezily, although underneath that the struggle to cover the unease in his voice is audible, "went to see her father – he arranged our match."

"Ah, I see," Bella lies. She glances out the window. "She is from there? Your fiancée, I mean."

"Um, yes," Edward replies stiffly. "The Hales are reputable family in London, very involved in philanthropy, but I supposed you wouldn't know, not that you should. They helped build London's largest hospital, and helped save a lot of lives in the process…" he trails off.

A passing observer would think he's rambling. Bella feels he's trying to justify himself. "Some say God rewards the generous with more," Bella remarks. And others say the affluent believe can buy their way into heaven, she thinks, but the latter tend to be cynics.

"Yes, perhaps," Edward agrees distractedly.

There's a long pause. Bella speaks up first. "I should get on now, the boys need to return to the school soon."

Edward bows awkwardly and Bella dips into a curtsy before turning and stepping out of the store. She hears his footsteps behind her but she doesn't turn to see if he followed. Rosalie Hale's porcelain face is peering out of the coach's window, looking impatient.

At that moment, with a hearty bellow, James steps out from the pub. He's roaring with laughter and putting his arm around Mme Victoria's waist. She sticks her fan between them and turns her face away. Bella knows nauseating smell of a few pints in his breath, and she feels embarrassed for him.

"Mr. McCarty," comes a tilting voice from inside the carriage, "please drive around the corner. I can't stand this loutish clamour."

Emmett obliges and Bella turns red as she watches the horses start into a trot.

Down by the pub, the Mme seems to be unwilling to lend her shoulder to James's assistance. Bella knots her fingers together, wondering if she should turn away and pretend she isn't responsible for getting her drunkard of a husband home.

"Bloody runts!" James hollers at a pair of younger students who dash by him. He chases them a few steps with his fist in the air. "I'll have you whipped!"

Victoria Poussard takes the opportunity to slip away down the side of the street. James spins around wildly, flailing his arms. He looks lost for a minute when he doesn't see the Mme behind him. A girl passes by, selling little pumpkins no bigger than cannonballs in a basket propped against her hip. James seizes her by the shoulder and shakes her. The girl's startled scream is cut off when he shoves her to the ground.

Bella has seen enough. She stomps over and pushes James with all her might. "Stop it!" she hisses angrily. "You're making a fool of yourself."

James grunts and glares at her unblinkingly. Bella stoops to collect the pumpkins for the girl. She snatches them from Bella's hands with wide, frightened eyes, and dashes away. There is still one little pumpkin that's rolled away from the rest. Bella picks it up and rolls it in her hands. She likes to think that she isn't a violent person, but at this moment she wants nothing more than to break the pumpkin over James's skull.

James snorts and heaves out a puff of breath, sounding very much like a horse. His beady eyes are narrowed and focused on Bella. "Bitch." He starts lowly and then again louder. "Bitch!" He raises his finger to point at Bella's nose. She stands her ground even as she feels her face burning. A small crowd of students gather next to the shops, watching silently, and passing villagers pause in their steps to spare them unreadable glances before continuing their way.

"Good for nothing bitch," James shouts, face red and spittle trailing down his chin.

Bella is shaking from her head to the tips of her toes. She feels a terrible rage washing over her as her fingers tighten around the little pumpkin, knuckles turning white. But before she can open her mouth a hand reaches in front of her and long fingers snap around James's thick wrist.

Edward forcibly lowers James's hand and plants himself between him and Bella. She can see, over his shoulder, the way James's scowl freezes as the doctor stares him down.

"Enough," Edward says icily, hand still clutched around James's. They're comparable in height but James's girth is nearly double the doctor's. Yet, somehow, if a brawl erupts Bella isn't sure that James would come out on top.

James seems to have realized this as well. He blinks hard, and then twists his hand from Edward's grasp and turns to leave. He doesn't even clomp away like a child after a tantrum. He slinks away like a wolf that lost its dinner to a hunter. Bella suddenly feels sorry for him. He is a barking dog behind a fence. He's loud when he knows you can't hurt him, but the minute he's out of the gate he'll run with his tail between his legs. That's what a bully is.

Edward regards Bella with careful eyes. "Are you alright?"

Bella has been enough of a spectacle tonight. She can't bear all those eyes on her.

She takes a deep breath. Her free hand trails up to her neck. "I need to return this ribbon. I hadn't paid for it." She slips into the shadows behind the street lamps and break into a small run towards the dress shop. She wishes she can just get away from everyone but she can hear Edward following her.

A small figure dashes out of the bakery's open door in front of her. "You shoulda hit him!" Bella stops.

"Jacob, what are you doing here?" The boy wasn't a part of the group that she's chaperoning.

Jacob beams up at her, front teeth still missing. "My pa took me out." He points to an approaching gentleman. Even if Bella didn't already know that his father is a military man, she still would have guessed so from his appearance. General Black is clean shaven and wears his hair in a small tail in the back. His hands and folded behind his waist and his back is straight as a ruler. His walk is brisk in spite of the limp in his legs. He is dressed in a grey coat that is bare of any medals or insignia, but he carries himself like a man who demands respect.

"Billy Black, pleased to make your acquaintance," the general bows. Bella curtsies and puts on a smile for politeness.

"She's the one who gave me bacon," Jacob says, pulling on his father's sleeve.

Bella can see from the corner of her eye that Edward has stopped a short ways away, gaping at the general. The general's gaze flickers towards him quickly, but makes no acknowledgement of the doctor's presence.

"Thank you for showing kindness to my son." The general pats the boy on the head fondly. He surveys Bella with perceptive eyes. "You are a brave woman."

Bella cringes, knowing that the man has seen that crude demonstration in front of the pub. "I wouldn't say that," she admits in a quiet voice. "He is my husband."

"That makes you even braver," the general replies unexpectedly. "We need good, brave women like you in our outposts, to help in the infirmary and keep the soldiers in line. We need women who can hold their own in a camp of rowdy young men. You could make a fine surgeon's assistant."

Bella shakes her head quickly. "I know nothing about surgery or medicine," she stammers. "Plus, my husband won't allow it, I'm sure. But Edward–" she points and he jumps at the mention of his name, "I mean, Dr. Masen is…well, a doctor."

The general hardly spares Edward a glance. "The infirmaries in India aren't like the office at Forks Prep," he says coldly. "They're short-staffed, overworked, and require skilled surgeons. Parasites are rampant, the heat makes the wounds fester in hours, and the sight of injuries attained in war is not for the faint of heart. It's no place for unsure fingers and silver spoons."

Edward's head seems to be hanging a bit low, and Bella is regretful that she opened her mouth at all.

The general bids her goodnight genially and takes his leave with Jacob waving wildly at her.

Bella gives Edward a searching look, trying to gauge his feeling. He gives her a sheepish look in return and stares after the general with a love struck longing that Bella finds both amusing and depressing. She pats him lightly on the arm. She learned that apparently not all doctors are held in high esteem. As with any other type of profession, there are always those who are considered better than others. Edward's father managed to find him a comfortable job, however without challenge there is no opportunity to make a name for oneself. Money can buy many things, but respect isn't one of them. This knowledge gives Bella a little twinge of superiority.

She apologizes to the dressmaker, who didn't even notice the disappearance of the ribbon. The happy woman brought out the green dress she kept aside earlier. "Try it on, madam. I'll pin the waist for you before you go."

Bella runs her hand down the skirt. "No, I don't think I'll take it. I'm sorry."

The dressmaker's smile slips off her face and she turns away with a huff, going to return the dress to the mannequin at the window.

"Excuse me," Edward calls after the shopkeeper.

Bella silences him in a rush. "No, Dr. Masen. I won't have it." There's a mirror to her left and her face looks as pale as the moon. She can see his reflection in it as well, and they make quite a picture. To Bella it looks as if a master is instructing his maid on her tasks in the morrow.

"Think of it as an apology from me," Edward says with a sigh, "for corrupting your virtue." He has that tortured look on his face again. He runs a hand through his russet hair, darkened in the dimness, and his green eyes are both seductive and naïve at the same time.

Bella doesn't feel very virtuous at the moment. "You haven't corrupted anything. I won't have it. It is surely not an apology and I don't need any favour from you." She looks down at her hands and eases back to sit on the ledge of the wall.

Edward opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. Somewhere out of sight behind him, the seamstress is fumbling with her mannequin.

"What is it," Bella asks softly.

"I wanted to tell you," Edward relents, "that green suits you."

Bella sees his conflicted look and guesses his meaning. "I didn't accept Mr. Jefferson's dress. It may have looked like I did, but I needed no favours from him either."

Edward goes pink in the cheeks. "I'm glad, I suppose, but I ought to be upset, because you looked enchanting in it."

This is wrong. He is engaged. Bella looks in the mirror and sees her own anxious face staring back. She aspired to be a good Christian woman like her mother, who loved her man despite his faults and worked hard to care for her children. Yet, here she is, wishing violence upon her husband, and is halfway to an adulteress. It's also unfair, somehow, because no one wrongs Edward for pursuing a woman who isn't his fiancée. Does he even feel guilty? It's always the woman who is the one to blame. Thinking back, Rosalie Hale was the one Bella condemned, yet Emmett McCarty was the one who reached for her first. Isn't his crime worse than hers? She, unsurprisingly, has no feelings for a man her father arranged her to marry. He, on the other hand, kissed his lifelong friend's betrothed. If God punishes sinners the way magistrates punish criminals, Emmett's sentence is bound to be decades longer than Rosalie's.

"Your fiancée is beautiful," Bella says faintly.

Edward's lips turn down at the corners and misery overcomes his features. "You are more."

"I am not," Bella replies simply. "I also don't have a father with great influence and connections in London hospitals. My father grows mediocre potatoes, so if you ever consider picking up a different line of work…" she smiles, unable to continue. She thinks it's funny, but Edward isn't laughing.

He's standing with his hands hanging down to his sides and his shoulders hunched forward. "Fate is cruel," he says grimly.

Bella would have been inclined to agree with him a few weeks ago, but at this moment, she's having a moment of clarity. Who Rosalie Hale kisses isn't her business. Who Edward Masen marries isn't her business either. She is only crossing paths with them temporarily. Her fate is set down a different road, and she'll follow it to the end.

How could she even imagine that she can be a part of their world? Even like this, Edward looks like a perfect marble work of an old master standing in the glass case of a museum. Meanwhile, she looks like the dismal wreck that stands in the wake of the torching of Rome, with a cracked face, an arm missing, and stubs of fingers that don't hide her shame.

It's wrong of her to be ungrateful of what she is given, and it's ungrateful of her to wish for things above her station.

Bella tries to return the conversation to where she is comfortable. "Will– will the wedding be in London then?"

Edward stares at her with sombre eyes. She leans back against the wall and returns his gaze. There's nothing here, she thinks, you don't want nothing.

He reaches out suddenly and holds her hand. Lifting her fingers with his palm, he raises it to his lips and kisses her knuckles. His breath is warm and tingles the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," he says. He's not apologizing for that has passed, but for what's to come. His eyes are boring into hers and setting her skin aflame. It's as if he can see her doubts, but he can perhaps also see how she doesn't have the strength to resist what he's promising her in this moment.

She leans in, almost unconsciously. She would like to think that it's a natural reaction, however if this is James she is sure that she will be leaning in the opposite direction. His eyes search hers, sparkling like emeralds. She hesitates for a second, but it is too late.

Their lips smear together, her nose presses against his cheek, and he pulls her forward. Her body collides into his. He takes her back as he steps forward, into her. Bella tries to pull away but her head bumps against the wall behind, so she turns instead, hands coming up to hold his face.

She trails her fingers along his jaw and watches his eyes linger on her lips.

She means to push him away but when her hands trail down the front of his chest she somehow pulls him closer. The heat in her abdomen is making her flush and the sensation of his hard thighs pressing against hers is pure sin. She imagines parting her knees and wrapping her legs around his waist. She lets out a shaky breath and rests her palms on his sides instead.

Edward pushes off the wall and runs his hands up the side of her thighs, pressing his hip against hers, and she arches, buttocks resting upon the ledge of the wall. His forwardness both shocks and excites her. She allows him to tug up the skirt of her dress. He has one hand on her hip and the other slips up her hem to caress her over her slip. The heat of his palm burns through the thin cotton. His thumb is sliding up her inner thigh. His grip is firm and she's about to melt against his hard body. His long, solid fingers make her sweat. She slips her hands underneath his coat and bunches up his waistcoat. Her forehead is pressed against his collarbone and she can hear his racing heart drumming all the way through her core.

She dares to lower her hands to the waist of his trousers pulling him forward. He slides between her knees, seizing her thighs and raising her up by them. The pressure of his hips between her legs is too much to bear. He shifts, breathing heavily, and the bulge of his erection presses against the sensitive innermost part of her thighs. With shaking arms, she holds him. His hand traces the lines of her corset and he leans down to press a hot kiss to the base of her neck.

There's nothing here, Bella thinks, I have nothing for you. She runs her fingers through his hair and her other hand brushes his neck. She tilts his chin up with her thumb and watches him with sorrow in her wide eyes.

"We can't," she whispers. "You have your duties and I have mine. I must attend to my husband, and you must think of your fiancée, or at least your career."

"What do you mean?" he says thickly, voice hoarse.

"When you marry his daughter I'm sure Mr. Hale will find you work in one of the hospitals he donates to," Bella guesses. "You'll be off to London. James will get us ousted from here eventually, and I will be off to God knows where. That is the path we're fated to go."

Edward stares at her, expression closed. "I hope to convince you otherwise, but I do not know how," he says quietly.

It isn't up to you, Bella thinks.

She watches Edward strode from the shop, back bent dejectedly. The carriage pulls around and he climbs in. Emmett's whip cracks against the evening sky and the horses canter away. Bella thinks about how she has never been to London, but perhaps, if she is lucky, she may visit one day.

She finds a gaggle of students huddled near the village gate. They tell her that James has wandered off by himself, they were too afraid to follow, and no one seems to be able to find the Mme. Bella grits her teeth and gathers the boys, herding them onto the road back to the school.

Edward's carriage disappears into the darkness ahead of them. She takes the lead in the long walk across the moors.

She has no lamp to light the way but the boys don't mind. It's an adventure for them, while she can only hope that no one will run off and drowns in a bog. She intended to stop at her hut to fetch an oil lamp, but when they near, Bella sees James clearly through the window.

He's sprawled, hardly sitting on their bed, and Victoria is stroking his furry chest.

The students whisper and stare at Bella.

She looks down the dirt road, squinting her eyes against the descending night and wondering if anyone looked out when the carriage passed by. The fatigue of the day drains from her in that instant. "Come along now," she says, "we don't need a light."

She braces against the wind, pulling her cloak close. She marches onward in the cold, mind blank.

* * *

 **Thank you for your patience and all the wonderful feedback!**

 **Next chapter should be up next week. Should.**

 **frostedglaze: Whoa there, spoiler alert! No one has eloped with anyone else yet, but Rosalie's heart is definitely far from where it should be.  
saraheden: Oh, Christ, you're right! And I was totally listening to the score of that movie while writing that chapter. Coincidence? I think not.  
**


	5. Act V

**Carnal Creatures**

* * *

 **Act V**

 _O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,  
That monthly changes in her circled orb,  
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable._

\- Romeo and Juliet

Under the wavering light of a single oil lamp, Edward is counting heads. Bella stands next to him, wringing her hands. She hadn't thought of counting the boys before they left La Push, she hadn't even known how many of them there were supposed to be.

"We didn't leave anyone behind, did we?" she asks in a small voice.

Edward's lips are only slightly down-turned at the corners, but his flashing eyes are furious. "I don't understand how _both_ chaperones failed to return with their charges."

Bella bites the inside of her cheeks.

Light footsteps sound behind them, followed by a cheery "Ah!"

Bella feels her stomach dropping into her toes as she recognizes the voice. Edward turns, "Evening, Mr. Jefferson."

Jefferson's bushy whiskers turn up as he smiles. "Hullo, Doctor," he nods at Bella, "dearie."

Bella feels a chill run up her spine and shuffles half a step backwards. Edward doesn't seem to notice as he strikes up a conversation with the Dean. "How was your trip?" he asks congenially.

"Fine, fine," Jefferson replies casually, small dark eyes flickering back to Bella every so often. "A bit tedious, but the weather was good for travelling."

"And everything is in order at the manor?" Edward asks.

Jefferson threads his gloved fingers together in front of his belly. "Yes, all sorted."

"Good to hear. Must have been important business to draw you away from Forks. I'm glad to hear it resolved."

"Yes, well, with any estate that size, there are bound to be," Jefferson pauses, "troubles."

Bella watches him pull a small silk handkerchief from his pockets to dab his forehead with. "And Mrs. Jefferson?" she asks evenly, "how is she?"

Jefferson stares at her, smile frozen, and hand raised in midair.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bella can see Edward giving her a strange look. "There is no Mrs. Jefferson," he tells her quietly.

Bella doesn't meet his gaze, but keeps her eyes trained on the Dean instead. "I head she was sick and bedridden recently. I hope she makes a speedy recovery."

Edward turns to look at Jefferson, one eyebrow raised. The Dean cackles loudly, startling them all. "Please, Dr. Masen," he says, smiling widely once again, "take the boys back to their rooms. It is getting late, and they have classes tomorrow morning."

"Uh, yes, of course," Edward says offhandedly but doesn't budge. He lightly brushes Bella's elbow with his fingers, looking at her with questioning eyes.

"Mrs. James can stay the night here, I think," the Dean says, gesturing to the dark halls behind him. "The moors are very dangerous at night."

"No," Bella replies hurriedly

"It would be safer if you stayed," Edward agrees.

"The bogs are black and hard to spot at this hour," Jefferson's sotto voice raises goosebumps down Bella's arms. "If you were to go, Mrs. James, I'm not sure we could find you again come morning."

"That's rather macabre," Edward says stiffly.

A door clicks shut somewhere down the corridor and Emmett's hulking form comes lumbering into view. He stops when he spots them, looking surprised. "Ah," he remarks uneasily, almost as if embarrassed. "I didn't expect…this late…erm."

"Perhaps Mr. McCarty can escort me back to my home," Bella suggests, desperate to take herself away from Jefferson's leer.

Edward shakes his head. "Emmett doesn't know these moors well."

"Take my room," Emmett offers enthusiastically, "it's small but very quiet. It's no bother, I'll just sleep up in Edward's office."

"I'll stay there with you and Rosalie can sleep down here in the guest suite," Edward says, clapping his friend on the back. "It is settled then. Bel– er, Mrs. James will stay the night."

Bella finds herself feeling obliged as she is whisked off down a small corridor on the ground floor and shown into the room at the end. She sits on the edge of the single bed, shoulder slumped. She doesn't want to face Victoria or James tonight anyway. She doesn't know what she would say to them. Perhaps it is good that she is staying. What if she went back in the dark and the two of them were occupying the bed still? Would she sit by the fire and glower at them until morning? Bella shudders at the image.

No, this is better. She will return once the sun has risen. Hopefully, Victoria has the good sense to scuttle before then.

Jefferson's butler comes in with a tray. "Supper, ma'am," he says. Upon the shiny silver platter is a delicious plate of roast and spiced potatoes. A small china bowl held ice cream, for dessert. Feeling far from Mr. Jefferson and that first terrible dinner so many weeks ago, Bella digs in. It is perhaps the best meal she has ever tasted.

The butler also leaves behind a silken nightgown. Bella runs her palm over the shimmery lavender and the creamy frills. No doubt it is another piece of Mrs. Jefferson's wardrobe. She decides to sleep in her slip instead.

As she unlaces her boots and pulls off her dress, she feels slightly lightheaded. It's all the events of the day, she thinks, she's too tired.

But when she tries to lie down, she sways, and her stomach starts to clench painfully. Bella pulls her knees to her chest and holds her abdomen. Perhaps the ice cream is making her sick.

She stands shakily, shuffling towards the bathroom.

The room begins to spin, a side-door she hasn't noticed before opens, and Mr. Jefferson's face is illuminated by the cold light of the moon.

xxx

Bella doesn't recall falling down, but she is on the floor.

It is cold and her slip is riding up her bare legs. She's moving, being dragged along the marble. She tries to protest but her mouth is numb and she cannot command it to do her bidding. Her scalp is on fire, and it feels like all her hair is being ripped from her head. She closes her eyes again.

When she opens them again there are at least half a dozen heads bobbing over her, blurred dark shapes silhouetted against the light from the lamps. Edward's green eyes are wide and staring in to hers. Warm hands are smoothing back her hair, s her cheek.

Bella looks around, having a sudden moment of clarity, and the lobby comes into view. Emmett is gesticulating wildly. "I came downstairs to get, erm, water, you know, and I heard something in the lobby. Came over to find her on the ground, just like this."

He came down for water? Bella tries to sit up. Or was it for a certain blonde beauty sleeping just down the corridor from her room? She raises a shaking arm and points at him. "'Tis wrong, sir," her tongue feels heavy and thick, "she's your best mate's woman."

Everyone looks at her. Edward's blinks. Bella feels her eyes rolling back into her head. The warm hands catch her head before it hits the cold marble floor.

xxx

She wakes again to sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains of the infirmary. How did she end up here? Bella sits up in the hard bed, among bleached white sheets. The drapes over her bed opens and Edward stands there with his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, copper hair tousled for once, and a small relieved smile on his face. Bella could look at him forever.

"Finally awake?" He asks softly, looking down at his hands. "It's almost noon. I'll have someone bring you lunch."

He glances at her when she doesn't reply. "Do you remember what happened last night?"

She had hoped she had a bout of bad dreams after that nefarious ice cream dessert. That scene in the hall…oh, God, did everyone see her barely covered in the thin slip and sprawled on the ground? How did she get there? She shakes her head. "Think I was dreaming."

"We found you in the lobby," Edward tells her, taking a step towards the cot. "You were sleepwalking, probably – almost made it to the front doors."

She doesn't remember doing any walking. "Sorry for the disturbance," she says meekly.

Edward smiles, and it feels like the sun has chased away the clouds after a thunderstorm.

Bella pats the edge of the bed. Edward hesitates for hardly a second, then sits. He glances sideways at her, then looks out the window. "Rosalie returned to London."

Bella cleared her throat and said nothing.

"Uh, do you know Emmett?" he asks out of the blue, "From somewhere else?"

Bella pauses, mind whirling. Oh, no, she sinks into the pillows as the memory comes back. Emmett.

"I don't know," she replies after a too-long silence. "Only from here."

Edward's brows furrow. "What did you mean when you said to him…" he trails off and restarts, "when you said what you said."

"I don't know," she repeats.

There is a pregnant silence. Edward's green eyes are dark and forlorn. There is a slant to his brows, a sharper angle to his cheeks, and a stray piece of russet lock that has fallen over his eyes. He looks so melancholy, so miserable, that Bella wonders if, at some level, he may know more about the business between Emmett and Rosalie than he shows. Bella's heart skips a beat. She knows that feeling, that unshakeable loneliness and heartache that comes with a loveless match.

The silence is broken only by the butler arriving with Bella's breakfast. Edward quickly takes his leave, much to her disappointment. He casts her one last poignant look as he goes, and she feels her chest constrict.

Bella absentmindedly stirs her tea. It isn't in her place to say anything. The thought of Edward breaking off his engagement makes Bella's heart soar, but if she is the cause of such a thing it would feel dishonest. If she tells him, it isn't because she wants him to know the truth, it is because she wants him to be hers instead. But Edward Masen can never be hers.

Bella picks up the tea and burns her lip on the rim. For some reason, Mr. Jefferson's moonlit countenance appears in her mind. Bella abruptly returns the cup to the tray with a loud clack. Staring at the milky surface, she feels the color drain from her face. Why did she see the Dean in her rooms last night?

Somewhere out of sight the infirmary door bangs open. Bella jumps.

"Edward, _Cherie_ ," comes Victoria Poussard's voice, a higher octave than usual. "Yoohoo! Come, attend to me, _mon amour_ , I strained my back."

Bella is already out of the bed and dressed. She flips open the drapes around her bed with more violence than perhaps necessary. "Dr. Masen is gone to his duties," she tells the Mme.

Victoria recovers from her surprise at the sight of herby huffing in annoyance. "I think I'll wait a while, then."

She picks her way through the office to seat herself on a high-backed chair across from Edward's empty desk. Bella can't help but notice the Mme is wearing the same dress from last night. Strained her back indeed.

"Perhaps you can call on him another time," Bella says, "I'm sure you have a class waiting for you this morning."

"I have a head-cold," Victoria says shrewdly, "I cannot teach today."

"I thought you strained your back," Bella points out coldly.

"I also have a head-cold," Victoria snaps.

Bella plops herself down in the seat opposite the Mme. "Yes, too much strong mead will have that effect."

Victoria's eye twitches, but she doesn't reply. She looks out the office window, watching the usual morning fog roll over the land. "I like the moors in the morning," she says lightly. "When I glance out my windows some days it feels as if we are upon the clouds."

Bella follows Victoria's gaze and sees nothing but grey.

"Sometimes you see unexpected things in the reeds," Victoria continues, eyes narrowed at Bella. "Once I saw a drab little will 'o wisp, hiding in the grass, luring good, upstanding gentlemen off the beaten path."

Bella feels a flood of heat spreading over her cheeks.

"I don't like looking through windows much," she retorts. "I wish I had curtains over mine, otherwise the passersby can see the whole house from the road. How indecent."

Victoria's long lashes sweep in Bella direction, her expression hard to read. Then she begins to laugh. It isn't her usual pearly, chime-like titter. It is loud and deep, almost maniacal, and reverberates off the walls.

Bella stands, frightened. "I think I should return now," she says loudly.

The Mme's laugh follows her down the corridor.

xxx

James is passed out on the bed. Bella is relieved to see he is dressed at least.

She munches on some old bread smeared with blackcurrant jam while the porridge simmers over the fire. She puts bacon and spices in it, just the way James likes it. He wakes from the smell, laps it down, and returns to bed.

Bella sits with her ankles crossed, watching him, waiting.

Unexpectedly, there is a knock at the door.

Bella answers it to find a young woman standing upon her steps. She has strawberry blond curls tucked under a feathered cap, and a beautiful heart-shaped face. Long lashes frame her almond eyes, and her skin is fair as porcelain. A fur-lined cloak is draped over a thick daffodil dress, and fashionable leather gloves on her slim hands. "Good morning, I don't mean to disturb you," the woman says bashfully, "but is this the way to Forks?"

"Yes, miss," Bella replies pointing. "Just follow the path through the moors." Behind her, the bed groans in protest as James lurches off it and out the side door. Bella raises her voice to cover the sound of him throwing up in the garden. "It's a bit of a walk."

"Oh dear," the young woman looks towards the muddy path with exasperation. "I sent the hansom back to the station. It's beautiful nice day out and I wanted to take a stroll, you see. Only, I didn't know it's so far." She smiles nervously up at Bella. "My name is Tanya."

"Bella, nice to meet your acquaintance."

Tanya looks back towards the moor and sways on the doorstep, indecisive, with a feeling of having something else to say but not knowing how to bring it up.

"What is your business in Forks?" Bella asks kindly.

"Oh, I came from London," – that much Bella has already guessed from her accent – "I came to see, er," she stops abruptly and blushes pink from her cheeks to her ears. "Does Dr. Edward Masen practice here?" she asks in a rush.

Bella regards Tanya quietly for a moment. "Yes," she says finally.

Tanya beams, missing the hesitation in Bella's voice. "Do you know if he would be there now if I called on him?"

"No," Bella says quickly. Tanya's smile falters, and Bella, not wanting to be rude, adds, "He takes the boys out on a morning hike every Monday."

"Ah," Tanya sighs, disappointed.

"He will probably pass this way upon return," Bella tells her helpfully. Hoping Tanya will either continue on her way or turn back down the road. Perhaps she is a patient of his from London, or she is answering to a posting for an infirmary nurse. Or maybe she's a messenger from Rosalie, even though she is too well dressed, and too pretty to be anyone's household staff.

But Tanya doesn't leave. "Would you mind if I waited inside?"

Bella stares at her. Surly she doesn't mean –

"Only for a little while," Tanya adds.

"Of course," Bella replies reluctantly, moving from the door to let her in.

James is passed out, face down in the garden mud. Bella casually swings the back door closed, before Tanya manages to see him. She busies herself by making tea and heating up biscuits. She even takes out their last bit of butter from the pantry. Tanya thanks her profusely but doesn't touch a thing. She is perched at the edge of the stool, hands clasped over her knees, and back straight as a board.

Bella runs out of things to occupy herself with and sits across from Tanya, trying to think of something to say.

Just then there is another rap at the door. Bella jumps up and swings it open.

Jefferson stands there in a long coat with pointed tails, unsmiling for once.

Bella takes a step back. "Mm—morning," she stutters.

Jefferson doesn't reply. He has a mean glint in his eyes as he reaches a gloved hand into the lapels of his coat. Bella glimpses polished metal and rounded edges. She stumbles back, an ominous sensation curdling her stomach.

At that moment there is a low, rumbling cough as James comes slinking out of the garden. He rounds the side of the hut, leaning heavily against the jagged stony wall.

Jefferson's hand jerks back. "Mr. James!" he exclaims in an unnaturally high voice. "Why aren't you attending to the railing along the path?"

James hacks loudly and spits on the ground, missing his own boot by a hair. "I won't be attending to nuthin' today," he growls, wiping spittle from his lip. He plops down on the stiles on front of the hut and refuses to budge.

From the corner of her eye, Bella sees Tanya peering at her curiously, and she remembers her manners. "Can I help you, Mr. Jefferson?" she asks loudly.

The wavering music of the boys' song comes through the mist, and Jefferson quickly turns and takes off back towards the school.

"Is everything alright?" Tanya asks.

Bella turns to give her a forced smile. "Oh, it was just Forks's Dean, looking for my husband."

"Oh!" Tanya says and leaps up from her seat. Her face splits into a wide smile, and she rushes out the door. Bella steps aside hurriedly and watches her, fixing her cap back on and fiddling with her gloves as she goes.

The boys trickle past the hut, pink in the cheeks and high in spirits. Trailing behind is Edward, with his fists in the collar of Paul and Jared's cloaks again. He lets go to swat the both of them round the back of the head, and they duck away to catch up with the rest of the group.

Tanya reaches the road then, and Edward comes to a dead stop when he catches sight of her. She runs up to him at such speed that Bella thinks for a second that they might collide.

But they don't.

They stand an arm's length apart, just looking at each other. Bella feels her heart thudding in her throat, but she doesn't quite understand why. Tanya has her back to her, but Edward's face is in full view. His green eyes are wide, stunned.

Then Tanya throws her arm around him.

A buzzing starts in Bella's ears. It sounds like the drone of a hundred wasps nesting inside her head.

Tanya's delighted jabber drifts through the fog. "—And I know how busy you are, and how upset you were that you couldn't come visit on my birthday, so I came to surprise you instead! Father wasn't too happy of course – I already told him you were going to break off the engagement as soon as you get the London appointment—I found a lovely brownstone, we can afford it together with your salary and my allowance…"

Bella doesn't hear if Edward replies, but his bright green eyes are looking over Tanya's shoulder, straight at her.

Feeling surprisingly calm, Bella steps gracefully back from the door, watching the hem of her faded dress sweep across the threshold. The buzzing in her head is getting louder by the second.

James resumes his duties around noon for a short while before slipping off to the pub again. He returns scarlet faced and possessing great humor.

Bella let him lay her on her back and slip her dress over her head. She doesn't flinch when he grips her thighs too hard. She doesn't cry when he flips her over and thrust so hard that her head hit the wall with every movement. She doesn't push him away when he wants to go again.

Afterwards, she cleans herself up, put on her nightgown, and lies back down without a word.

But she doesn't get a wink of sleep.

* * *

 **Thank you all for your patience and your follows! I can't apologize enough for the delay, but hopefully you enjoyed this chapter!**


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